The library was nearly empty when you walked in.

It was one of those old, stone buildings that always smelled faintly of dust and leather, the kind of place you loved because it was quiet, tucked away from the chaos of the city.

But today, it wasn’t empty.

He was there.

Sitting at the far end of a long oak table, shoulders hunched slightly as he turned the pages of a battered book that looked comically small in his massive hands. You paused for a moment, unsure if you should even disturb him.

Then you realized you didn’t have a choice—your bag had just slipped from your shoulder, spilling its contents across the floor.

You groaned under your breath as pens and papers scattered everywhere. Dropping to your knees, you scrambled to gather everything up.

By the time you looked up, he was there.

Vuk Macrovic crouched in front of you, silent as he handed you the last runaway notebook. Up close, he was even more imposing—broad, solid, his pale eyes unreadable as they met yours.

“Thanks,” you said, brushing the hair out of your face. “Sorry for the noise. Not exactly stealthy of me.”

He didn’t respond. Just straightened up and waited for you to do the same.

You blinked at him. “Do you… talk?”

Nothing.

“Right,” you muttered, half amused. “Strong, silent type. Got it.”

For a second, you swore the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. But he turned away before you could be sure, walking back to his seat at the table.

You hesitated before following and settling in across from him. “I promise I’m not normally this clumsy,” you said lightly as you opened your laptop.

Vuk glanced up at you, his expression as unreadable as ever. Then he slid his book across the table, the spine stopping right in front of you.

A gesture. Stay.