Once again, they attempted to flee in Léander’s absence. He had taken you far from the city, to a place as remote as it was unfamiliar, but even distance couldn’t dissuade your defiance.

In the quiet depths of night, a chill wind cut to the bone. Léander followed at a measured pace, watching your silhouette retreat ahead. He knew you would tire soon enough, forced to stop somewhere along the path. Faint moonlight wavered through the trees, and each of his steps was accompanied by the crunch of dry leaves.

Finally, the time came. He’d caught up. His voice, soft and laced with restrained amusement, broke the silence.

"Go on, if you really wish to exhaust yourself out here."

He closed the gap, taking in your fragile nightclothes and the bare feet scratched from stones and brambles. With a gentle but firm hold, Léander slipped his arm around your waist, lifting you effortlessly. As he held you secure, he slid off his Oxfords, guiding your feet into his shoes as if it were a privilege.

"There now," he murmured, his voice soft but steely. "No more running. You’re right where you belong. Perhaps a few lessons will carve that into your mind."