5. When Darkness Knocks
700 Words
The silence stretched for a few breaths longer before Lira finally moved, stepping away from the window. The cottage felt warmer now, though whether from the fading storm or Cael’s presence she couldn’t quite tell anymore.
Probably both.
She busied herself with the familiar—checking the fire, straightening the table, anything to ground herself. But awareness of him lingered at the edge of every movement. The quiet pull between them had stopped startling her; instead it settled like background music she couldn’t switch off.
Comforting. Dangerous.
“You should get some rest,” she said, keeping her tone practical. “Storms like that usually leave the air strange for a while.”
Cael didn’t move immediately. When she glanced back, he was still watching her—not intensely, not intrusively, just attentively. As if memorizing small details: the way she tucked loose hair behind her ear, the slight crease that formed between her brows when she worried.
“I don’t really sleep much,” he said. “Not since the fall. But I don’t mind the quiet.”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “You picked the right cottage for that, then.”
He finally shifted, closing some of the distance between them but stopping short of touching. The restraint felt deliberate. Careful.
“You never told me,” he said, “what you were thinking when you decided to help me that night.”
Lira hesitated.
She had asked herself the same question more than once.
“I wish I had a heroic answer,” she admitted. “But mostly… it just felt wrong to leave you there. Like ignoring something important.”
His expression softened.
“I felt that too,” he said quietly. “Even before I woke properly. Like something steady was nearby.”
The warmth in her chest returned, stronger this time. She forced herself to breathe evenly.
Dangerous territory again.
Before she could respond, a faint chill brushed the back of her neck.
Subtle. Easy to dismiss.
Except she knew that feeling now.
Cael stiffened almost simultaneously.
“You felt that?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Both turned toward the door. Nothing visible—no shadows moving, no sound beyond dripping water from the eaves. Yet the air held that same unnatural coolness she’d sensed near the dying crops.
Watching. Waiting.
Instinctively, her hand found his. The familiar warmth sparked immediately, stronger than before. Not dramatic light, not visible magic—just a steady reassurance flowing between them.
Cael didn’t let go.
“If something is testing the edges,” he murmured, voice low, “it won’t rush. Darkness rarely does.”
“Great,” she said softly. “Patient threats are my favorite.”
That earned the ghost of a smile from him, though tension still lined his shoulders.
They stood like that for a long moment—hands joined, listening to a silence that felt slightly too heavy to be natural. Gradually, the chill receded. The ordinary night sounds returned: distant waves, wind through trees, an owl somewhere near the cliffs.
But the unease lingered.
“You should still rest,” he said finally. “I’ll keep watch.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Humor me.”
She studied him for a second, then nodded. Not because she thought she needed protection—but because some part of her liked knowing he would stay.
At the loft stairs she paused.
“Cael?”
“Yes?”
“If anything feels wrong… wake me. Don’t try to handle it alone.”
A flicker of something warm crossed his face. “I won’t.”
She climbed to the loft, though sleep didn’t come easily. The bond between them hummed faintly, reassurance threaded with tension. She could almost sense him below—steady, alert.
Time passed.
Minutes. Maybe hours.
Then—
A sharp pulse jolted through that connection. Cold this time. Urgent.
Lira sat bolt upright.
Below, something heavy thudded against the cottage door.
Not wind.
Not rain.
Something deliberate.
And when the second impact came, harder than the first, she heard Cael’s voice—quiet but unmistakably tense.
“Lira… stay upstairs.”
Which, of course, guaranteed she wouldn’t.
- Writer
