The hallway outside Dominic's room felt different.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Like the walls themselves understood what had changed.
Elara stood in front of the door to the guest room that now belonged to her, fingers pressed against the cold brass handle. This wasn't just a room.
This was a war zone.
Because she wasn't just scared anymore.
She was awake.
She pushed the door open slowly.
The room was darker than the last one. Warmer. More lived-in. Less perfect.
It smelled faintly like him — leather, clean sheets, and something darker she couldn't name.
She placed her bag on the chair, hands moving slowly as if her body was trying to understand this new reality.
I'm really this close to him.
She walked to the window and pulled the curtains back.
The garden below looked unreal. Silver under the moonlight.
Her chest tightened.
Why am I not running?
A soft sound.
Not a knock.
Footsteps.
She turned.
Dominic leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed — not invading, just… there.
"You didn't lock the door."
Her voice felt small.
"I wasn't trying to shut you out."
Silence.
He stepped in slowly, careful — like he walked into fragile spaces gently.
She hugged her arms around herself.
"This house is loud," she whispered.
"It breathes," he said. "It remembers."
She looked at him.
He looked tired.
Not the tired of work.
The tired of carrying ghosts.
"Are you afraid?" he asked.
She nodded.
He stepped closer.
Then stopped.
Because he always stopped.
Her voice almost broke.
"Why do you always stop?"
His jaw tightened.
"Because if I don't… I won't be able to step away."
That felt real.
Dangerously real.
Her heart moved before her mind did.
She walked closer.
Slow.
Not touching.
Just… near.
"You won't hurt me," she said quietly.
His breath changed.
"You don't know what that does to me."
Silence stretched, breathing between them.
Her fingers trembled at her sides.
He looked at her hands.
Then up at her eyes.
And something in him shifted.
He lifted his hand slowly.
Stopped midway.
Waited.
She nodded.
Silently.
Yes.
His fingertips brushed her wrist.
Barely.
Like asking permission.
The world didn't burn.
It steadied.
He dropped his hand.
Just as quickly.
"Sleep," he said roughly.
"I'll be right across the hall."
She lay down minutes later, staring at the ceiling.
Her heartbeat didn't sound afraid.
It sounded alive.
And so did the darkness.