Silas did not draw his blade.
That alone told her everything she needed to know.
He stood at the edge of the firelight, body perfectly still, one hand resting lightly on the hilt as if the weapon were an extension of thought rather than steel. His breathing was slow. Controlled. Not the posture of a man preparing to strike—but of one deciding whether striking was even possible.
The forest had gone unnaturally quiet.
No insects.No wind.No distant night calls.
The silence wasn't empty.
It was attentive.
She pushed herself upright slowly, the motion deliberate, refusing the instinct to remain curled on the ground. The moment she moved, the bond responded—not with alarm, not with warning, but with a strange tightening that felt like focus sharpening.
Alaric's presence shifted instantly.
Not blocking her.Not pulling her back.Just there.
Close enough that she felt the warmth of him without needing to turn.
