I grab my coat and head straight to the door my half expecting it to be locked, but hoping it isn't. Twisting the door handle, it opens with ease, leaving me in utter shock. That's strange. It should be locked by now. I sneak out and begin running to the southern wing where the door to the garden waits. We're in the north wing, and normally it would take awhile to get over there, but I make sure to hurry myself out into the garden. I arrive not long after and take off the the orchard. I am inside when I search frantically for Caelen making sure not to be spotted if I do end up finding him.
I am far in the orchard before I began to hear his low, sexy voice getting louder and louder. The orchard seems different at night—draped in shadow, cloaked in a quiet that feels heavy with secrets. The trees, tall and thick with midnight-hued leaves, sway ever so slightly, their branches whispering as I pass beneath them. Moonlight spills through the canopy in slender shafts, spotlighting parts of the narrow dirt path while plunging the rest into darkness. Dew clings to the grass and glistens faintly, like the earth is holding its breath.
The further in I go, the more the air seems to change—cooler, charged with some unspoken energy. There's a strange stillness here, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves or the distant cry of a nightbird. The scent of overripe fruit and damp bark wraps around me, thick and intoxicating.
Then I see him.
Caelen stands in a clearing nestled deep within the orchard, beneath a sprawling tree whose silvery leaves catch the moonlight like spun glass. He's alone, one hand loosely gripping the edge of a low-hanging branch, his head tilted slightly as he speaks softly to himself—or someone unseen. His voice is like velvet dragged across skin, low and rough and maddeningly smooth all at once. Each word he murmurs lingers in the air like smoke, curling around me before I even step closer.
The shadows don't quite touch him, as though the moon itself is conspiring to make him glow. His shirt is half-unbuttoned, collar askew, revealing the defined lines of his collarbone and a hint of the mark inked along his skin—one I hadn't noticed before. His jaw clenches as he speaks, lips curling into the faintest smirk that sends a shiver right through me. There's something wild about him, something barely restrained, like he's a breath away from becoming something untamable.
And still—he's beautiful. Unbelievably so.
I freeze behind the thick trunk of a tree, heart hammering, breath caught in my throat. I'm close enough now to hear every syllable spilling from his lips, even though he's not speaking loudly.
"I told you… she's not ready yet," he murmurs, his voice low and sharp like cracked flint. "But she's starting to feel it. I can sense it in her eyes. In her blood."
I frown. Who is he talking to? There's no one else in the clearing. No communicator crystal, no familiar spell sigil. Just him and the shadows.
He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing at something only he can see. "It's not my job to interfere," he says, quieter now, voice dripping with frustration. "But I won't stand by if they try to use her like—"
He stops.
A long, tense silence.
Then, softly, "She's… more than they think."
I press my back to the tree, adrenaline surging in my veins. Is he talking about me? Every word he says feels like a riddle, like it's meant to be heard but not understood. My mind spins with questions, none of them with answers I can hold onto.
He exhales through his nose, straightens, and brushes a hand through his dark, tousled hair. That same smirk plays at his lips again—like he knows he's being watched.
And then he speaks louder, turning just slightly toward where I'm hidden.
"You going to stand there all night, or are you going to say something?"
My breath hitches.
Caught.
My body tenses, every instinct screaming at me to run. But I don't. I step out slowly from behind the tree, the damp grass cold against my bare feet, heart thudding so loudly I'm sure he can hear it.
He turns to face me fully now, the look in his eyes unreadable—somewhere between knowing amusement and veiled caution.
"I wasn't spying," I say, too quickly. "I was just…" I trail off.
There's no excuse that makes sense. Not for this. Not for me seeking him out like a ghost in the night.
"Curious?" he offers, lifting a brow.
"Worried," I correct softly.
That's not a lie. Not completely.
Caelen tilts his head again, studying me as if peeling away my layers with just his gaze. "About me?"
His tone is light, teasing, but there's something coiled beneath it. Something tense.
I nod. "You said some things last night… and I needed to know if they meant anything. If you meant any of it."
For a moment, he doesn't say anything. Just watches me, his expression flickering between interest and something darker.
Then he turns, facing the tree again.
"You ask a lot of questions," he says, voice quieter now. "But some truths aren't ready to be told."
I take a step closer. "Try me."
He doesn't speak at first. Just watches me, the stillness between us thick enough to drown in.
Then he says quietly, "You're not supposed to be here."
I swallow hard. "Neither are you."
A flicker of amusement dances across his features, but it's gone just as quickly. "Maybe. But I don't hide behind locked doors like the rest of them."
I take a cautious step forward. "You said things last night. Things that didn't feel like empty words."
His jaw flexes. "They weren't."
"Then why are you talking like none of it matters?"
He exhales through his nose, gaze dropping to the ground. "Because if I say it out loud, if I give it weight… it'll become real. And real things have a way of breaking."
I blink, stunned by the vulnerability in his voice. "You think I'm going to break?"
"No," he says, lifting his eyes to mine again. "I think we might."
A beat of silence.
Then he steps closer—so close I feel the heat radiating off him.
"There are forces in play here that you don't understand," he says, his voice low and rough. "And whether I like it or not, you're at the center of all of it."
My chest tightens. "Then help me understand."
He reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face with a touch that's far gentler than I expect. "I want to. But once you know the truth… you can't un-know it. And it'll change everything."
I stare at him, my heart pounding so hard I can barely breathe. "Maybe I want things to change."
He holds my gaze, searching it for something. Then, with a reluctant smile—sad, beautiful, dangerous—he whispers, "Be careful what you wish for, Elena."
Then finally turns and walks past me, his shoulder brushing mine with the faintest touch. I can still feel the heat of it even after he vanishes into the orchard's shadows, leaving only the faint sound of his footsteps behind.
Silence settles, heavy and thick.
And then—
A flicker of golden fire bursts beside me.
Ashveil materializes with a sharp cry, feathers flaring like molten embers, casting a soft, flickering glow across the dark orchard. Her wings fold in close as she lands gracefully on a branch just above me, talons curling around the bark. Her head tilts, eyes glowing with something like concern.
"That was him, wasn't it?" she asks, her voice echoing in my mind, a silken thread of flame and thought.
"Yeah," I whisper, still staring at the place he vanished. "It was."
Ashveil hops down beside me, her warmth soaking into my skin. "He speaks like the stars taught him riddles and forgot to give him the answers."
I huff out a laugh, though it doesn't quite reach my chest. "I don't even know what he meant. Something about me not being ready. About not letting them use me."
Ashveils gaze sharpens. "He's worried. That much was clear. And whatever he's tangled in—it's deep, Elena. Deep enough to burn you if you're not careful."
I look down at my hands, flexing my fingers as if they might carry a truth I missed.
"He said I was more than they think," I murmur.
Ashveils feathers rustle. "Because you are."
"But how does he know that?" I meet her eyes. "How does he know anything about me?"
Her wings flare slightly, golden embers drifting from her feathers. "Maybe he sees something in you. Or maybe he's seen it before—in someone else. Either way… he knows more than he's saying."
I nod slowly, trying to stitch together what I heard, what I felt. The way he spoke, the ache in his voice when he said he wouldn't let them use me. He wasn't pretending.
"He's dangerous," Ashveil says softly, her tone almost protective.
"I know," I reply. "But somehow… that doesn't scare me."
Ashveil falls quiet, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"It should."