The chamber felt colder once the door slammed shut. Dust floated lazily through a thin beam of light, settling on stone and silence.
Elena kept her back straight, though her pulse thudded hard against her ribs.
Soren faced her, breathing steady, posture carved from that unshakable control he wore like armor. But his eyes—dark, fixed, unblinking—gave him away.
He was not calm. He was calculating.
"Elena," he said quietly, "you will tell me what happened in that infirmary."
The words were soft. The tone was not.
She crossed her arms. "I told you. I helped."
He took a step forward—slow, measured. "You did more than help. You assessed the wound instantly. You directed my healers. You stitched a soldier with a method no one here has ever used."
"It worked," she said.
"It did." A pause. "That is why I am asking."
The air tightened.
She swallowed. "Fine. I'm trained. I'm a doctor."
His expression did not shift, but something in him paused—like a heartbeat caught between beats.
"A… doctor," he repeated softly, testing the word. "What does that mean?"
"A healer," she said. "But different. More specialized. More… controlled."
He stepped a little closer—not enough to crowd her, but enough she felt the heat of him.
"Explain."
She hesitated. "I treat injuries. Illnesses. I know anatomy. I know how to sew wounds, set bones, stop bleeding. It's what I do."
He absorbed every syllable as if they were clues. "You learned this somewhere."
"Yes."
"Not here."
"No."
Silence stretched. Long enough that she heard her own heartbeat.
Then: "From your world," he murmured.
She nodded.
Soren's gaze flicked to her hands—clean now, but he had seen the blood earlier. The precision. The certainty.
"You cut flesh to heal it," he said, more to himself than to her. "A concept foreign to this realm."
"It's necessary sometimes."
He looked back at her, something unreadable in his eyes.
"And dangerous," he said quietly. "Knowledge that sharp always is."
She bristled. "I'm not dangerous."
His gaze softened by a fraction. "Not intentionally."
He took another step forward—slower this time, careful, as if approaching something skittish or sacred.
"Elena," he said, voice quieter now, "your knowledge could shift the balance of power in my citadel. In my realm."
She opened her mouth—he raised a hand, not to silence her, but as if asking her to wait.
"That is why I need to understand you," he said. "What you are. Who you are. Why you were brought here."
She exhaled, frustrated. "I've told you the truth."
"You've told me pieces of it."
"And that's all I can give right now."
Soren's jaw tightened—not with anger, but with tension coiled too tightly in his chest.
"Elena," he murmured, "I am trying to trust you."
The words stopped her breath.
He stepped closer—slow, careful, until his presence brushed against hers like heat without contact. His hand lifted slightly, as if he meant to touch her cheek, then curled into a fist instead and lowered.
Not touching her felt like the point.
"I need to know who stands in my citadel," he said. "And who I place under my protection."
"I didn't ask for your protection," she whispered.
"No." His voice dropped. "You earned it."
Her breath hitched.
His gaze fell to her lips—one heartbeat too long. Enough to shift the air. Enough to make something low in her stomach twist and tighten.
She felt gravity bend, subtle but unmistakable, pulling them a fraction closer.
She didn't move. Neither did he.
It was the kind of almost-moment that hurt.The kind that left a mark without ever touching skin.
His breath brushed her cheek—warm, steady, unbearably close.
"Elena," he murmured, barely audible, "if I stand any closer, it will not be by accident."
Her pulse stumbled.
She didn't step forward. She didn't step back.
And that—his eyes darkened—was its own answer.
For a suspended second, the world narrowed to the space between their mouths.
Then Soren inhaled sharply and stepped away, just far enough to break the spell. The loss of his heat felt like a physical ache.
"We will speak again," he said, voice low and strained.
He turned slightly, not taking his eyes off her until the last possible moment.
"And next time… I expect the whole truth."
The door opened. He didn't look back as he left.
But Elena's knees felt unsteady—because almost had never felt so dangerous.