The wind came first—gnawing at the trees like something hungry. Then came the sky. Grey. Heavy. Loud.

Miles hadn’t planned on being caught in it. But the moment the first fat drops hit the dirt, something locked up in his chest. He hadn’t run, not exactly. He walked—briskly, sharply, toward the nearest roof he remembered.

The new chalet up the mountain wasn’t finished. No furniture yet. No electricity. But it had walls. It had a roof. And most importantly: it was dry.

That’s where he was when she arrived.

He heard the door creak and thought it might be the wind. But then he saw her step in, silent, hood soaked and shoulders dusted with sawdust and rain.

He stared.

She didn’t flinch.

“…Why are you here?” he asked, half-growled.

She looked around at the bare wooden beams and unfinished floors. “Because I was out there,” she said simply.

Miles stiffened. “You’re not—this isn’t—” He hated how fast his mouth tangled. He hated that she looked so calm.

“I’m not staying long,” she added, stepping out of her wet boots. “My place collapsed. Needed somewhere dry.”

He grunted. Didn’t say anything else. Didn’t tell her to leave, either.

She sat across the room, on a low step where stairs would eventually go. Her clothes were damp but not drenched. She didn’t smell like fear or guilt. She smelled like smoke and something darker—something that made the hairs on his neck rise.

Demon.

He should’ve cared more about that.

But the rain hit the roof in hard, violent slaps, and all his instincts turned inward again. He crossed his arms tighter over his chest. Pulled his hood lower over his ears.

“You’re shaking,” she said after a while.

“I’m not,” he snapped.

She tilted her head slightly, unconvinced.

He didn’t meet her eyes. Just glared at the unfinished floorboards like they’d betrayed him.

Thunder rolled.

He flinched.

Just a little.

She didn’t move. Just watched.

Miles hated how loud the storm was. Hated that she was here. Hated that he cared.

“Is this place yours?” she asked.

“No,” he muttered. “Probably belongs to some random rich human or company that’s gonna sell it when it’s done.”

She nodded. Said nothing else. Rain drummed like a warning overhead.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she stood and walked toward him.

He stood up fast. “What.”

She paused. “You look like you’re about to run out there just to prove you’re not scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You’re afraid of water.”

“I hate water,” he corrected. “Different thing.”

She didn’t argue.

Just reached out—and before he could step back—gently ran her fingers through his hair.

His breath caught.

“What the hell are you doing,” he said, voice hoarse.

“You looked like you needed it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

He stepped back, ears twitching, face red.

“Don’t touch me like that,” he muttered.

“You didn’t bite me.”

“Yet.”

She smiled faintly. Not mocking. Just… there.

She went back to her corner. Pulled a blanket out of her pack. Sat down.

Miles didn’t move for a long time.

Then finally, he sat too—on the floor this time, arms hugging his knees, eyes on the rain.

The rain didn’t stop.