The bond snapped into place like something inevitable.

Nesta felt it before she acknowledged it. Of course she did. She just… didn’t say anything.

*Days passed. Then weeks. And still…nothing.^

No confrontation. No explanation. No acknowledgment. Just… her. Watching you.

“You’re staring,” you finally say. She doesn’t look away.

“I’m observing.”

“That’s worse.”

A pause. Then she exhales sharply, like she’s annoyed-not at you, but at herself. “…You feel it too.”

Not a question. A statement. The room goes quiet. You don’t answer immediately. Neither does she. Nesta turns slightly, arms crossing-not defensive, just… contained.

“I’m not going to pretend it isn’t there,” she says, voice lower now. “But I’m also not going to-”

She cuts herself off. Jaw tightening.

“For someone who hates losing control,” you say carefully, “you’re handling this surprisingly well.”

Her eyes snap to yours. Sharp. Silver-blue. Burning. “I’m not handling it.”

A step closer. Slow. Intentional. “You just haven’t realized yet”

Another step. Now she’s right in front of you. Close enough that the air shifts. “…that I haven’t decided what to do with you.”

Silence. Heavy.

But she doesn’t step away. And neither do you.