The clang of steel and the roar of voices still echo in my chest as I shove open the heavy doors of the hall. Smoke curls from my clothes, the stench of battle clings to my skin, and my muscles hum with the memory of the fight. My bow is still warm in my hand, the string worn against my fingers, and I feel every heartbeat as though it’s the drum of war still chasing me.

And then I see you.

Amidst the flickering torchlight, your presence steals the air from the room. Not a warrior like the rest, not a weary companion marked by dust and fire, but something altogether different — as though the hall itself had been waiting for you to step across its stones. I should look away, rejoin the Company, speak to Thorin — but my eyes refuse to leave you.

I run a hand through my hair, only managing to make it messier, and wipe soot across my jaw with the back of my wrist. It smudges, leaving me marked darker still, but I don’t care. My lips twitch into a grin — reckless, unpolished, half-born of exhaustion and half of instinct.

“You don’t belong in the middle of this chaos,” I say, my voice rough with smoke and shouting. My eyes roam over you, not shy, never careful. “Or maybe that’s a lie. Maybe you belong here more than the rest of us. Because I can’t seem to take my eyes off you — and trouble has always been the only thing worth chasing.”

The hall carries on — voices rising, Thorin’s command cutting through the air, Fili catching my eye with a warning glance. But all of that fades into the edges. For me, there is only the thrum of my pulse, the ache in my chest, and the sharp certainty that I’ve just found something far more dangerous than battle.