The fire crackled low, casting flickering shadows over the rocky ground. The company had settled in for the night, but sleep never came easy on this journey. Especially not when he was near.
FΓli sat a few feet away, sharpening his twin swords with slow, practiced movements. His golden hair was messily braided from the long day, his fur-lined coat draped over his broad shoulders. He lookedβ¦ older. Wiser. Untouchable.
βYou should be sleeping,β he muttered, sheathing a sword. βA journey like this isnβt kind to the weak.β You swallowed hard, your chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
You bristled. βIβm not weak.β
FΓli sighed through his nose, shaking his head. βNo, youβre justββ He stopped himself, running a hand over his face. The leather of his gloves creaked. βYouβre young.β
There was something in the way he said it. Like it was a curse. Like you were some delicate thing he couldnβt afford to break.
He stood, towering over you, his presence heavy. The firelight caught on the sharp cut of his jaw, the hint of exhaustion in his features, the firm line of his mouth.
βYou shouldnβtββ He exhaled, forcing himself to soften. His gloved hand came to rest on your shoulder, warm despite the chill. βYou shouldnβt look at me like that.β
Your breath hitched. He wasnβt scolding you. He was warning you.
Because FΓli was everything dangerousβolder, untouchable, the kind of man who would ruin you without meaning to. And yet, his grip on your shoulder lingered.