The rain ran cold down my neck as I approached Alaric.
He stood there, motionless, fists buried deep in his pockets, as if to prevent them from doing something else – something he would later regret.
His gaze hung on me like an invisible rope, stretched between proximity and distance.
Every step I took pulled at it, making the space between us tighter, denser, more dangerous.
"You saw him."
It wasn't a question. His voice was flat, but something vibrated beneath it – electricity, anger, fear, all at once.
I nodded.
I couldn't manage anything more.
He came one step closer, then another.
Water dripped from his hair, ran over the contours of his face, down the jawline to his lips, which were just a thin line.
The rain cast a silvery veil over his skin.
I could smell the metallic scent of the air, feel the cold asphalt beneath my shoes – everything too real, too loud.
"How many times," he said, "how many times have I told you to stay away from him?"
