The next morning felt… different.
Nivara stood outside the café longer than usual, her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her bag. The cobblestone street of Eldraven looked the same—quiet, sunlit, almost too peaceful. But something inside her had shifted.
Or maybe… something had begun watching more closely.
She pushed the thought away and stepped inside.
The familiar warmth wrapped around her instantly—the scent of roasted coffee, the low hum of voices—but today, it didn't feel as comforting. Her eyes moved quickly, almost instinctively, scanning the room.
Empty.
Her chest tightened.
Why does that bother me?
She exhaled slowly and made her way to her usual seat by the window. And of course—the flowers were there. Fresh. Perfect. Waiting.
But today… they felt heavier somehow.
As if they knew something she didn't.
"You look like you're searching for something."
Her breath caught.
That voice.
She turned—
And there he was.
Sorven.
Leaning casually against the wall near the entrance, like he had always been there. Like he hadn't disappeared yesterday without a trace. His amber eyes locked onto hers instantly, glowing faintly in the morning light.
Nivara's heart skipped—then raced.
"You…" she started, standing abruptly. "You just left yesterday."
He tilted his head slightly, that same unreadable smile playing on his lips. "Did I?"
Her brows furrowed. "Yes. One second you were there, and then—"
"And yet," he interrupted softly, stepping closer, "you came back today."
Her words died in her throat.
Because he was right.
And she hated that he was right.
"I came for coffee," she said quickly, sitting back down, avoiding his gaze.
"Of course you did," he murmured, taking the seat across from her without asking.
The air shifted again.
Heavy. Electric.
Dangerous.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Nivara reached for her cup, but her fingers weren't steady. She could feel his gaze on her—intense, unwavering, like he was studying something far deeper than her face.
"You think too much," Sorven said quietly.
She looked up, slightly annoyed. "And you assume too much."
A slow smile spread across his lips. "No. I observe."
Her breath hitched—just slightly.
Why does he always do that?
"You're strange," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
"And yet you keep coming back to me."
Silence.
That one hit deeper than she expected.
She looked at him then—really looked at him. The sharpness of his features, the calm confidence, the way his presence seemed to bend the space around him.
It scared her.
And somehow…
It didn't.
"Maybe I just like mysteries," she said softly.
His eyes darkened—just a flicker, but enough.
"Careful," he leaned in slightly, voice low, almost a whisper, "some mysteries don't like being solved."
A chill ran down her spine
But before she could respond, he leaned back again, like nothing had happened, like he hadn't just shaken something inside her.
Moments passed. Words came and went. Light conversation. Soft laughter. But underneath it all… something deeper was building. Something neither of them named.
And then—
Out of nowhere—
"I want you to be mine."
Nivara froze.
Her heart stopped.
"What?" she blinked, certain she heard wrong.
Sorven didn't look away. Not even for a second.
"I don't like waiting," he said simply. "And I don't like pretending I'm not interested."
Her cheeks flushed instantly, a mix of shock and something dangerously close to excitement.
"You're insane," she let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking her head. "You barely know me."
"I know enough."
That answer came too quickly.
Too confidently.
It made her nervous.
It made her curious.
It made her pulse race.
She leaned back, crossing her arms, trying to regain control. "In your dreams."
There it was—the challenge.
The teasing.
The distance she was trying to create.
Sorven's lips curved slowly.
"Keep dreaming," he replied smoothly.
She rolled her eyes, a smirk forming despite herself. "You wish."
His gaze locked onto hers—deeper now, darker.
"I do," he said softly.
A pause.
Then—
"Every night."
Her breath caught.
And before she could react—
"You're very loud in them."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Nivara's heart slammed against her ribs, heat rushing to her face as her mind completely blanked. "You—what kind of—" she couldn't even finish the sentence.
He only smiled.
Calm. Certain.
Like he had just said something completely normal.
"You're unbelievable," she muttered, looking away, trying to hide the way her pulse refused to slow down.
"Andyet," he leaned slightly closer again, voice softer now, almost gentle, "you're still here."
That pull again.
Stronger this time.
Dangerously stronger.
She should leave.
She knew she should.
But her body didn't move.
Because somewhere deep inside…
She didn't want to.
Outside, the flowers swayed gently in the breeze. Nivara blinked, trying to steady her racing thoughts. The sunlight seemed softer now, almost too perfect, and yet her heart felt anything but calm. Every beat hammered reminders of what had just happened—Sorven's words, his gaze, the way he had leaned in just slightly, so close, yet just out of reach.
She forced herself to rise, standing slowly, hands trembling around the cup she hadn't even touched. He remained seated, watching her with that same inscrutable expression, as if he could read every flicker of doubt, every unspoken question.
Nivara felt a strange mixture of fear and excitement swirl inside her. She wanted to run—she should run. Yet some part of her, a part that had been quietly growing since the first bouquet appeared, urged her to stay. To see where this would go. To understand why her pulse refused to settle whenever he was near.
"I… I should go," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sorven tilted his head, lips tugging into a small, knowing smile. "Of course," he said smoothly, though nothing about his tone suggested he actually expected her to leave.
"But remember what I said."
She swallowed hard, ignoring the sudden tightness in her chest. She turned toward the door, taking a step into the warm sunlight outside. The cobblestones felt too solid, too real, as if each step reminded her how uncertain everything else had become.
Her mind raced. Should she accept him? Could she even trust her own feelings yet? His words replayed endlessly: "I want you to be mine… Every night… You're very loud in them." A shiver ran down her spine—not of fear, exactly, but of something far more complicated. Desire, curiosity, and the tiniest hint of reckless hope tangled together inside her.
She paused at the corner, glancing back at the café. Sorven was still there, seated casually, watching, patient. He hadn't moved. He didn't need to. Somehow, his stillness pressed on her like a weight, like a silent dare.
Nivara exhaled slowly, uncertain which way her heart would pull her next. She had choices—she could let herself be swept away, or she could hold back, protect herself from the storm she could feel coming.
The flowers swayed again, catching the sunlight, their colors brilliant and fleeting, like the decision she had to make. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. She walked forward, then stopped abruptly at the next street corner, her mind a whirl of emotions and questions.
What would she do? Would she say yes and step fully into his world, or would she walk away and leave this dangerous, intoxicating story unfinished?