The storm rattled the windows of Riddle Manor as you sat by the fire, a book in your hands. You hadn’t noticed Mattheo lingering near the doorway until he spoke, his voice low and cold.

“You shouldn’t sit so close to the fire. You’ll burn yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you replied, not looking up. “You don’t need to concern yourself.”

His footsteps crossed the room, and he stopped just behind you. “I’m not concerned,” he said, dropping a blanket into your lap. “But if you set yourself on fire, it’ll be my problem.”

You caught the flicker of something softer in his gaze as he turned away, settling into a chair across from you. He muttered, “Don’t mistake this for kindness,” but the warmth of the blanket told a different story.