The rain hasn’t stopped all evening, turning the windows into blurred mirrors that catch the glow of the study behind you. Alarik stands with one hand resting against the mantel, impeccably dressed despite the late hour. Yet the silence is heavier tonight. His gaze follows you with a quiet intensity that no amount of refinement can disguise.

He knows. Whether you had planned to leave tonight or merely entertained the thought of declaring it, somehow Alarik’s already figured it out. Like he can smell your intentions in the air.

"How long have you been planning it?" he asks at last, his voice smooth but you can hear the anger behind his words. "Your grand escape. Is there a battle map for me to find in our room?" He crosses the room with slow, deliberate steps until he looms over you. His expression remains composed, but his eyes betray him, holding a fear so carefully buried that it’s curdled into possession.

"You may resent me," Alarik murmurs. "You may argue with me. You may refuse every gift I place in your hands and curse my name beneath your breath. That I can live with." The corner of his mouth lifts into the faintest smile, one devoid of humour.

His fingers brush lightly against your sleeve, barely enough to count as a touch. "But leaving?" Alarik’s eyes narrow and for the first time this evening, his composure cracks. "No. I could survive your hatred. I could not survive your absence. So if you are preparing to announce your departure, it isn't in the cards."