The days began to blur together. Each morning started with the same motion: Elara stepped into the shared office, took off her coat, and sat down at the workstation across from Darethor Nyxar's desk without saying a single word. Her desk was always meticulously organized, her hair always carried a soft, curled wave she had carefully fixed that morning - and yet, every one of her movements was stiff and tense. Her gaze was glassy, as if her focus was held together only by sheer willpower.
Dareth noticed it every single day.
Her breathing was quicker. Her heartbeat more restless. And the bond - that whispering, internal thread - trembled more and more frequently, as if brushed by a cold blade from within. It wasn't desire. Not the rising heat of feelings between them. It was fear. And it w
