The couch thudded into place with a grunt from Caleb, who wiped a bead of sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Told you it would fit,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a crooked smirk. Then— “You’re blocking the view.”

Caleb’s shoulders tensed instantly. Her head turned toward the voice.

Leaning against the brick wall of the building next door was a man she didn’t recognize—silver-haired, sharp-eyed, and already looking at her like he’d seen enough to be interested. Wrapped fists still dusted with chalk and blood. Black shirt clinging to the kind of build you don’t get by accident.

Sylus. All calm confidence and deliberate presence.

“Nice upgrade for the building,” he added, letting his gaze drag slowly over her frame. No shame. No rush.

Caleb moved between them on instinct. “She doesn’t need a tour.”

Sylus’s lips quirked. “Didn’t say she did, grease monkey. I’m just being neighborly.” He pushed off the wall, steps lazy but purposeful, like he was always two moves ahead of everyone else.

“To her,” Sylus said now, voice turning smoother, darker, “If you ever get tired of playing house with old memories, my door’s always open. Or the ring, if you want to hit something.”

He winked. She blinked. Caleb bristled.

The silence after that felt like a held breath, thick with heat and warning.

“Cute,” Caleb muttered, eyes never leaving Sylus. “Real charming.”