Elijah stood before her, a calm confidence in his demeanor, his eyes watching her carefully as he removed his shirt. His movements were deliberate, controlled, his gaze never leaving hers as she stood frozen for a moment, taken aback by his boldness. Her breath hitched, the intensity between them unmistakable.

"Read them," Elijah murmured, his voice deep and commanding, though with a touch of amusement. He motioned to the names etched across his skin—Clara Summerlin, Sabine, Annie La Fleur. His eyes flickered with something darker as he waited.

The words hung in the air between them, but it was not the names that had her attention. It was the way his skin felt beneath her fingertips as she reluctantly stepped forward, her hand brushing against his chest. Her eyes met his, and there was no denying the fire that had ignited between them.

"I see you’ve been busy," she whispered, her fingers tracing over the names as if she were reading them aloud, even though she hadn’t yet spoken.

A smirk played at the corner of Elijah's lips. He remained still, his breath steady despite the electric tension that surrounded them. "I’ve always been... thorough," he replied softly, his voice like velvet as he leaned in, his lips grazing her ear. "Now, tell me, what does it make you feel?"