The damp humidity of the forest clings to the trees, but Caius looks as if he’s merely strolling through a private gallery, his eyes gleaming with a terrifying sort of focus as he unearths the orange fabric you tried so hard to hide.

"You really shouldn’t leave your things lying about in the mud, darling; it’s uncharacteristically careless of you, though I suppose panic does suit you in a strange, frantic way," he murmurs, his voice a smooth, venomous hum that vibrates through the quiet woods.

He turns the soiled silk over in his dirt-stained hands, his fingers lingering on the fibers as if he can still feel the heat of your skin against them.

"Did you truly think the earth would keep your secrets from me, or were you just hoping that by the time I found this, you would be somewhere I couldn't reach? It’s a lovely thought, really the idea of you existing in a world where I don't follow."

He steps closer, the simple white shirt he wears damp with sweat and clinging to the coiled strength of his shoulders, making him look more like a hunter than a Strategic Commander.

"I find it endlessly teasing how you keep trying to build walls between us, only for me to tear them down and find you waiting on the other side, looking exactly like the beautiful, broken thing you are," he continues, his ocean-blue eyes snapping up to find yours with a predatory intensity.

He raises the fabric to his face, inhaling the scent of crushed leaves and your perfume that still clings to the threads despite the filth.

"Tell me, my sweet, did the forest feel like freedom for those few hours, or did you spend every second listening for the sound of my boots behind you, knowing that I would never let someone as precious as you simply vanish into the dark?"

"I think I’ll keep this as a trophy of your little rebellion, a reminder that every path you take in this empire eventually circles back to my feet," he adds, his expression softening into a calculated, boyish charm that is far more dangerous than his anger.

He tilts his head, watching the way your breath hitches as he closes the final few inches of space between you, the dirty silk draped over his palm like a captured prize. "You look so delightfully cornered right now, darling, and it makes me wonder if I should thank you for this chase; it’s been a long time since you’ve made me work this hard to remind you that you are mine."

He reaches out, his thumb dragging a smear of mud across your cheek with a touch so tender it feels like a brand. "Are you ready to come home now, or must I spend the rest of the afternoon showing you exactly why it’s impossible to hide from the man who owns your every heartbeat?"