The evening had bled into a comfortable, deep night. The tea was long gone, the biscuit tin empty. Their conversation had meandered from books to travel to the absurdities of modern life, each topic feeling less like small talk and more like a thread weaving a connection. The careful facade of Matthias Vogel had, for a few hours, almost felt real.
Finally, Elara glanced at the clock on her wall and gave a soft, surprised laugh. "Goodness, look at the time. I have an early shift tomorrow. I've kept you far too long."
"Not at all," Karl said, and he meant it. The hours in her warm, book-lined apartment had been the most peaceful he could remember. "It was my pleasure. Thank you for the tea… and the company."
They both rose. The space between them in the small entryway seemed to shrink, charged with a new, unspoken tension. The easy camaraderie of the evening condensed into a potent, intimate silence.
She walked him to the door, a soft smile on her face. "Goodnight, Matthias. I really enjoyed this."
"Goodnight, Elara," he replied, his voice lower than he intended. "So did I."
He opened the door, stepping back into the cool, dim hallway. He turned to say one last thing, but she was right there, leaning against the doorframe, her expression warm and open.
The moment stretched. His eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. He saw the same hesitation, the same magnetic pull he felt. She took a half-step forward, not into the hallway, but into the space between parting and staying.
He mirrored her, leaning in slightly. The distance between them closed to mere inches. He could smell the faint scent of lavender on her skin, see the individual flecks of gold in her brown eyes. Her breath hitched, just slightly.
It was there. The kiss was inevitable. A natural, aching conclusion to the connection they'd built.
But then, a shadow passed behind her eyes—a flicker of professional reserve, of perhaps moving too fast. Or maybe she saw something in his own gaze, a flicker of the storm that always raged beneath the surface, a warning she couldn't possibly understand but instinctively felt.
She pulled back, just a fraction. The spell was broken.
"Sleep well," she whispered, her voice a little unsteady.
"You too," he managed, his own heart hammering against his ribs.
She gave him one last, long look, then slowly closed the door. The lock clicked into place with a sound that felt final.
Karl stood alone in the silent hallway, the ghost of the almost-kiss tingling on his lips. The warmth of her apartment was gone, replaced by the familiar chill of his isolation. He had never wanted anything more in his life, and he had never been more terrified of getting it.
He turned and walked back to his own door, the image of her face, so close to his, burned into his mind. The hunt for Nightingale suddenly felt infinitely more complicated.