The forge was quiet except for the soft hum of the embers, the glow of molten metal casting flickering shadows across the walls. you were sitting on a workbench, swinging your legs as Beckendorf leaned over a half-finished weapon, his hands moving with practiced ease.

There was something calming about watching him work—his steady hands, the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, the small satisfied nod he gave whenever something fit together just right.

You were supposed to be helping, but honestly? You were mostly just watching him, lost in the way the firelight danced across his face. He’s so handsome. Fuck anyone else who says otherwise.

He glanced up, noticing your stare. one eyebrow quirked. “You planning to help, or just admiring my craftsmanship?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move. It was a fair question and you weren’t really admiring his craftsmanship, just him.