After what felt like an eternity—a journey measured in the hammer of her own heart and the cloying scent of moon-flowers—the carriage jolted to a halt.
Aurelia alighted before the wheels had fully stilled, escaping the perfumed prison. A bitter cocktail of pain and fury propelled her forward.
The building that loomed ahead was small, nondescript—a stark contrast to the opulent cage she had fled. Yet it was the promised meeting point. Without hesitation, she crossed the threshold and vanished inside.
The interior was a box of woods and dust. A single, guttering oil lamp sat on a scarred table, its meager light fighting a losing battle against the gloom.
And there, framed in that pathetic halo, was Calvus.
"Calvus."
Her voice was not a word but a raw, furious scream that tore from her throat and bounced off the bare walls.
He was seated on a simple wooden chair as if it were a throne, one leg crossed casually over the other.
His rich brown hair was tied back with fastidious smoothness, not a strand out of place. The lamplight caught the planes of his face, highlighting the composed, almost bored indifference there.
"You made it."
His voice was soft, yet it seized the moment, swallowing the echoes of her scream and leaving a silence that felt thick and heavy.
Aurelia took two sharp steps forward, her soft shoes whispering on the grit-strewn floor. "Made it where?"
The question was a dagger. Her violet eyes, wide and blazing in the semi-darkness, scanned the wretched room—the cobwebbed corners, the empty crate, the single exit behind her that felt less like freedom and more like a trap she'd willingly entered.
"I was supposed to be across the human border by now. I was supposed to be home." Her hands flexed at her sides, fingers curling into nails-biting palms. "What is this? You changed the plan. You lied to me."
Calvus unfolded himself from the chair with a slow, deliberate grace that was its own kind of insult. The smirk that curved his lips was not one of warmth, but of cool, superior amusement.
"You should be grateful I saved you," he said, his tone infuriatingly placid. He took a single step toward her, closing the distance just enough to feel imposing.
"Tenebrarum was not worthy enough. The original route was compromised."
"Saved me?" A harsh, disbelieving laugh escaped her. Her chest tightened, anger burning through the last of her fear, hot and bright.
"You threw me into a basket with monsters! You delivered me to a stranger who kisses drivers in alleys and carts me around in a… a perfumed hearse!" Her voice rose, trembling with the force of her betrayal. "This isn't salvation. This is madness!"
She spun on her heel, the rough fabric of her skirt whipping around her legs. The urge to flee was a physical pressure in her bones. She didn't know this place. She didn't know where the alley led, what city this was, or what dangers lurked beyond the door. It didn't matter.
Any unknown was better than this calculated betrayal.
"This is insane. I'm leaving."
Aurelia took one determined step toward the door, then another, her body coiled for flight.
"Do not move an inch."
The words were not loud, but they were dipped in a frost so absolute it froze the air in her lungs.
She stopped, her back to him. Every instinct screamed to run, but the command had rooted her to the spot as surely as chains.
"Stay. Right. There."
Each word was a hammer blow, final and terrifying. She heard the faint creak of leather—his gloves tightening, perhaps, or a shift in his stance. She didn't turn. She didn't need to. The harmless facilitator was gone.
In his place was something else entirely, and the space between them in the dusty room crackled with its new, dangerous truth.
"You don't control me," she said, her voice trembling not with fear but with a fierce, reclaimed will. Aurelia took two deliberate steps back, putting precious air between them. "I choose where I want to stay."
The space she created seemed to ignite him. His composure, already cracked, shattered completely.
"I have waited my whole life for you," he said, the words a low, ragged scrape of sound torn from a place of raw, unfathomable depth, "and this is the nonsense you spit at me?"
He finally pushed off from the chair, the force of it skidding the wooden legs back with a harsh scrape against the floor. His breath came faster, louder—a controlled rage heating the air between them as he closed the distance. His coffee-colored eyes, usually so placid, now churned with a storm.
Before Aurelia could recoil, his hand shot out. Strong fingers encircled her upper arm, and he spun her to face him. The world blurred. In the next instant, he yanked her forward. Her temple struck the solid wall of his chest with a dull thud. The impact stole her breath. She was trapped against him, enveloped in the scent of leather, dust, and his sharp, angry heat.
"You are not serious!" Her voice was muffled against his tunic, thick with panic and fury. She shoved against him, but his arm was an iron band. "I never asked for you to search for me! You knew my brother… not me!"
She wrenched her head back, forcing her gaze to his. Her violet eyes, wide and blazing, met his turbulent brown ones.
A cruel, disbelieving smirk twisted his lips. "You are actually so foolish. Don't tell me you don't know." His free hand came up, his thumb brushing roughly along the line of her cheekbone, then her jaw, as if tracing a familiar map. "Look at me. Really look. You don't see the resemblance?"
Her heart, which had been hammering against her ribs, seemed to stutter and plunge into ice water. A cold, dreadful suspicion began to uncoil in her gut. Her struggle stilled. "What… what are you saying?"
He leaned down, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel the warmth of his breath as he delivered the blow. The words were soft, precise, and utterly devastating.
"I am Gaius, fool."
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To be continued...