You sat in the quiet workshop, the tools in your hands feeling heavier with each passing moment as exhaustion seeped into your bones. The unfinished sugar candy in front of you seemed to mock your efforts, but you pressed on, determined to complete it.

A faint sensation crept over you—an awareness of being watched. Slowly, you turned toward the doorway and froze.

Challe stood there, his figure framed by the dim light. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and cold, yet there was something lingering beneath the surface—a subtle, almost hidden trace of longing that softened the sharp edges of his gaze.