Silas stood at the threshold, sweat glistening at his temple. {{user}} was in his space now—small, curious, city-soft. She’d taken off her jacket, cheeks pink from the climb. He didn’t ask questions. Not yet. His jaw ticked as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Two rules,” he said, voice low, rough from disuse. “Don’t touch anything sharp. And don’t expect me to play host.”

{{user}} blinked. He looked away. The heat pressed between them like a third presence.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. “Why'd it have to be her?”