"It's not like that," she says. "I just.... I just need some space."
"Amelia," Daniel says, his voice low and gentle, touching a place deep within her, making her heart pound in her chest.
"I'm here for you, you know. I'll always be here for you. You can tell me anything. You can trust me."
She knows he is right. She knows she can trust him. But she also knows that what she's feeling is dangerous, that it's unnatural, and that she needs to figure out how to deal with it— on her own. It's her problem now. She just needs a moment.
"Go to your room, Amelia," Daniel says, his voice filled with compassion, his eyes speaking of his deep love. "You need to rest."
She nods and takes a step back from the doorway. She feels a sense of gratitude for his kindness, for his understanding, for his presence in her life. But she also knows that she has a lot to figure out.
"Thank you," she says and turns to go into the room. She can feel him staring at her.
She slowly walks toward the bathroom, her mind racing with thoughts. She needs to find a way to make sense of everything.
She looks in the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with wide, frightened eyes. Her whole body trembles. She is scared.
As she finally slips into the warm shower, a sense of relief washes over her. The water is soft, the steam is soothing. But the quiet in her mind is overwhelming. She can't escape the confusion that is swirling within her. The night has left a deep stain, a mark that is impossible to erase.
'Why me?' She asks herself. 'Why am I the one who has to go through this?'
She tries to think of what her father would say. To her, he would be the one to give her advice. The one who would help her make sense of things. But he's gone, taken away by the war.
She tries to focus on the steam from the shower, on the feeling of the water running over her skin, and on the soothing rhythm of the water as it falls into the tub below.
She tries to find a sense of tranquillity in the sound of the water but it's difficult. She is still anxious, still fearful.
And then she feels it. A powerful, unmistakable sense of presence in the room. It's Jason.
She can feel his presence, even though she can't see him. It's like he's right there in the shower with her, filling the room with his raw, primal energy. She closes her eyes, trying to push away the feelings that are bubbling up inside her.
But she can't deny the undeniable. She needs to find a way to escape. To escape this powerful presence that is seeping into her soul, that is claiming her as his own.
She tries to ignore it. To focus on the rhythm of her breathing, to find a semblance of control in the chaos within her.
But the sensation intensifies, a warm, almost electric hum that spreads from her chest out through her limbs. It's like a silent, relentless force, closing in on her.
A wave of panic washes over her. She jerks back, reaching for the shower control, turning the water off with a sudden, desperate movement. Standing in the steam, shivering now with a cold that goes beyond the lack of hot water, she feels his presence even more acutely.
'He's here,' she whispers to herself, a statement more than a question. She can't escape it.
As she steps out of the shower, the steam seems to cling to her, a shroud of unease. The bathroom feels too small, the air suffocating. She has to get out, get away.
Even through the steam, Jason's scent -the musk of primal power, mingled with a faint, alluring sweetness—lingers in the air.
Just the thought of him, the knowledge of his presence, is a physical sensation; a tightness in her chest, a churning in her stomach, a tingling beneath her skin.
There is a strange, unnerving attraction to this fear. And somehow, she knows she's not truly afraid. She's... intrigued.
Her heart races, not with terror but with anticipation. With a sudden, unexpected wave of courage, she turns to face the door.