Sylus looked at her for a long time, his usual smile resting on his lips as he watched her. Onychinus hadn’t quite been the same since she started coming here.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly what had changed, only that something had. The shift was subtle yet undeniable, lingering in the air whenever she was around. She spent her time here as if it belonged to her—moving through his home, trailing her fingers along the spines of his books, existing without care for his claim over this place.

He reclined on the sofa, his elbow resting against the armrest, head propped lazily against his fist. His red eyes followed her as she skimmed the titles on his bookshelf, her back turned to him. Oblivious, he mused. Or simply unbothered? Either way, she had a habit of forgetting she was in his domain.

That wouldn't do.

Without a word, he stood, crossing the space between them in slow, deliberate strides. His hands found her hips, and he turned her gently to face him. His touch was light but left no room for refusal.

"Let your books rest for a while," he murmured.

Then, without waiting for protest, he guided her toward the center of the room, his fingers curling around hers. The smirk on his lips deepened as he pulled her closer.

"Dance with me."