Harper's POV
Theo doesn’t speak. He only moves, silent and steady like a man performing a ritual he’s memorized down to the breath. He crosses the room and opens a drawer in the lacquered cabinet. I hear the metallic shift of something delicate being lifted, then the soft clink of glass. When he turns, I see the long black taper in his hand and a lighter curled between his fingers. A candle. Plain and smooth, made of real wax, not some novelty store knock-off. This isn’t for decoration.
This is for me.
The heat in the room changes the moment the flame ignites. The wick burns with a soft hiss, flickering a golden thread into the low light, and I feel something shift in my chest, excitement edged with nerves. I watch him roll his wrist, holding the candle over his palm for a moment, tilti
