The water in the stone tub lapped softly against your skin, steam curling into the cool night air of the House of Wind. Your muscles screamed, exhaustion sinking deep into bone. You’d fought, bled, and clawed through shadows for three days straight—and for the first time in a while, you let yourself breathe.

The door creaked open.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to. The hum of his power was unmistakable—moonlit, quiet, and threaded through with something ancient.

“Nyx,” you murmured. Your voice came out rougher than you intended.

He didn’t answer at first. Just stood there, watching. You could feel it—the weight of his gaze, stripping you down to something more fragile than flesh.

“It took ridiculous effort,” you said, half to yourself, “to survive that mission.”

Still nothing. Only the sound of his slow, deliberate steps.

When his hand brushed the edge of the tub, you lifted yours, water dripping between your fingers. You shouldn’t have. But you did. Close enough that you could touch him if you wanted to.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, he shifted—just enough so that his fingertips rested on top of yours. It was barely contact. But it was everything.

You’d shared bodies before, traded heat and breath and whispered nothings in the dark, but this… this felt more intimate than anything you’d ever done.

Your heart stuttered as you watched your fingers touch, light against light. An array of emotions flared, bright and unguarded.

Nyx’s voice was low, roughened at the edges. “You shouldn’t scare me like that.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

He exhaled, the sound almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “You’re impossible.”

You turned to meet his eyes then—starlit and storming all at once. “You came here to tell me that?”

For a heartbeat, he hesitated. Then, softly: “I was wrong, y’know. You’re not just a warrior.”

You frowned. “Then what am I?”

His mouth curved, sad and small, as if the truth hurt to speak. “A thief. You’ve stolen more from me than I meant to give.”

Your breath caught. “What have I stolen?”

He shook his head slowly, that faint, broken smile never leaving. “My heart.”