Crimson Bond of Ravenkot

chapter 17: Forced proximity

Chapter 17 :

Forced Proximity

The chamber wasn’t a prison. Not really.

But the moment I stepped inside, it might as well have been.

The door closed without a sound.

Not a slam.

Not a click.

Just the soft pressure of air shifting, like the room had exhaled.

I stayed standing.

Stone walls rose around me

The floor beneath my boots was polished stone—black veined with gold. My reflection fractured in it, stretched thin, wrong at the edges.

A bed stood at the center. Too wide. Too clean. Sheets pulled so tight they looked unused by anything human.

I didn’t look at it again.

Instead, I walked to the chair near the wall. Plain wood. No cushions. No carvings.

The kind of seat you choose when you don’t plan to stay.

I sat carefully. Too carefully. Back straight. Hands resting on my knees like I’d been taught in school assemblies.

My fingers twitched once.

I folded them together immediately.

The room was warm, but a bead of sweat slid slowly down my spine anyway. I felt it, counted it, let it reach my waistband before I moved.

I swallowed.

The sound was louder than it should’ve been.

Somewhere beyond the walls, something shifted. Not footsteps. More like weight adjusting.

I lifted my eyes to the door, then dropped them again.

Just long enough to look hopeful.

Not long enough to look brave.

My knee bounced once.

I stopped it with my heel.

And waited.

When he finally spoke, his voice didn’t echo.

It didn’t need to.

“So,” he said calmly,

“you understand what fear is?”

I didn’t answer.

My jaw tightened instead. Just a fraction. Enough to hurt.

I shifted my weight from my left foot to my right. The stone floor was cold through my boots, even though the room was warm.

Abhay tilted his head.

Slow. Curious.

Like he’d heard something I hadn’t said.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

Not a smile.

A recognition.

Gold eyes locked on mine — not sharp, not cruel.

Amused.

My tongue pressed hard against the inside of my cheek. I tasted copper.

He leaned forward slightly.

Just enough for the runes along his chest to glow brighter.

“Interesting,” Abhay murmured.

And somehow, impossibly, it felt like he’d replied to a sentence that never left my head.

His gaze dropped.

Not to my face.

To my hands.

Still folded. Still controlled.

One of his brows lifted slightly.

My fingers twitched again.

I tightened them into fists before he could comment on it.

Abhay inhaled.

The air moved.

Not into his lungs — toward him.

My breath hitched half a beat late.

He noticed that too.

“Humans lie loudly,” he said quietly.

“Your body is… disappointingly honest.”

I forced a small smile.

The kind that shows teeth but no invitation.

“Good,” I said. “Means I don’t have to talk much.”

His gaze returned to my eyes.

There it was again.

That unreadable curve at the corner of his mouth.

Not a smile.

A verdict.

“On the contrary,” Abhay said, voice low,

“you are speaking constantly.”

He lifted one clawed finger.

Didn’t touch me.

Stopped less than an inch from my chest.

I felt the heat anyway.

My pulse jumped.

Traitor.

Abhay’s eyes softened.

That was worse.

“Just not with sound.”