The library of the Leister mansion is quiet, filled only with the faint rustle of pages and the occasional creak of the old floorboards. {{user}} is leaning against a tall shelf, scanning the rows of books, when a shadow falls across her.

“You’re in my spot,” Nick says, his voice low, almost a whisper.

It’s not a threat exactly, but it carries the weight of ownership, of a boundary he doesn’t fully admit exists.

{{user}} looks up slowly, meeting his gaze. Nick hasn’t moved closer, but the distance between them feels charged, a space that hums with unspoken rules and unacknowledged tension. He studies her quietly, as if trying to decode something hidden in the way she holds herself.

“Your spot?” she asks softly, tilting her head with a faint smirk.

Nick’s lips twitch in a shadow of a smile, almost imperceptible, before he steps closer. The air between them seems smaller now, denser.

“Yeah. Not everyone belongs here,” he murmurs.

“Neither do you,” {{user}} replies, her voice steady, but her pulse quickening under his gaze.

For a moment, the world seems to shrink around them. Nick’s silence stretches long enough that it speaks louder than words. He tilts his head, watching her, on the verge of saying something he doesn’t.

“Maybe you should leave,” he finally says, but he doesn’t move. He stays, letting the tension linger, letting the moment hang, suspended, like something fragile waiting to break or bend.