E L A R A
Adrian doesn’t call my name. He doesn’t speak at all, he just grabs my wrist. Not rough or painful but tight enough that my pulse jumps under his thumb, tight enough that every thought in my head stutters. One second I’m slipping out of the edge of the gala crowd, trying to escape the heat of lanterns and champagne breath, and the next he’s dragging me into the service wing like the world is on fire.

“Adrian..” I start, breathless.

“Not here.” His voice is so low it doesn’t even sound like him. More gravel, more fear, more… something he doesn’t want me to see.

I stumble once, the hem of my dress brushing his leg, and that tiny contact sends a bolt of heat through the air between us. He doesn’t slow and the music fades behind us, replaced by the hum of industrial vents, the distant clatter of a rolling cart, the sterile back-of-house scent of metal and disinfectant.

He doesn’t let go until we’re deep inside the service corridor with narrow walls, dim lighting, a place built for utility, not privacy. He turns so fast I almost collide with him. His hand still circles my wrist and his chest rises like he’s been running.

“What happened?” I ask, because something did, something big. His eyes are the wrong kind of dark, not angry or arrogant. No, this is something colder and dangerous. His hand releases my wrist only so he can brace one palm on the wall beside my head. The motion is too fast, too instinctive, like holding himself up or holding himself back and I can’t tell which. The corridor is so narrow that when he leans in even a fraction, his hips brush mine, but God, I feel it everywhere.

“Adrian…” My voice comes out thinner than I want. He swallows hard, jaw flexing like he’s grinding back words he doesn’t trust himself to say. His other hand lifts, hesitates then finds my waist like he’s checking I’m actually here. His fingers curl, cautious, but they burn through the fabric of my dress like ownership he doesn’t have a right to claim. His breath hits my cheek. Too warm, too close and I feel it all the way down my spine.

“I thought I lost you tonight,” he says quietly. The words are barely there, but the honesty in them slams into me. I blink up at him, and the movement brings us dangerously closer. Our noses almost touch, his forehead dips, his lips brush against nothing but air but they’re right there.

“Adrian,” I whisper, and this time it sounds like a plea, I don’t know for what. He inhales sharply, like the sound hurts him. “I shouldn’t be this close to you.”

“Then step back.”

“I can’t.”

His hand tightens at my waist, my fingers clutch his shirt without me realizing it, gripping like my body reached for him before my mind did. His thigh brushes mine again and both of us freeze, heat searing through that single point of contact.

Someone wheels a cart past the far end of the corridor, muffled footsteps,and a burst of laughter. The world is inches away, but his body crowds mine, shielding me even from the sound. It shouldn’t feel intimate or forbidden or feel good, but it does. The restraint between us isn’t a line anymore. It’s a thin strand of glass with cracks spidering out from every heartbeat.

“What’s going on with you?” I ask softly, because this isn’t normal. This isn’t one of our battles, our sharp-edged dances. There’s fear in him. Real fear, and it’s aimed at me. His forehead drops against mine like gravity finally won. His breath shakes. “There are things moving against us,” he says, voice hoarse. “And I don’t know how to keep you safe without..” He stops.

“Without what?” I push. My fingers curl tighter in his shirt, pulling him infinitesimally closer. His lips hover so close I feel the shape of the words against my mouth. “Without crossing lines I promised myself I wouldn’t.”

My pulse thrums painfully hard. “What lines?”

“Elara.” My name breaks in his throat like he’s confessing and cursing in the same breath. His hand slides to the small of my back, tugging me into the heat of his body. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Why?” I breathe. His eyes close, jaw trembling with the effort not to give in. “Because if I say it, I won’t stop.” The world tilts, the dim lights blur and my chest aches with something sharp and sweet and terrifying.

“You’re already not stopping,” I whisper. His exhale is a shudder. His nose brushes mine, the lightest possible touch, and my whole body clenches with need so sudden it almost embarrasses me. The space between our mouths is nothing. He’s right there, one breath away, one mistake away.

“Tell me to back up,” he murmurs. I don’t and I can’t.

My hands slide up his chest, slow, shaky, unthinking. His heartbeat slams into my palms. His body goes rigid, like he’s seconds from either kissing me or destroying distance forever.

“Adrian…” I close my eyes, my lips almost touching his. “Don’t make me lie.” He swears under his breath, low, guttural and helpless. His forehead presses harder against mine. His thumb strokes my waist once, trembling, like he’s memorizing me before pulling away. Except he doesn’t pull away.

Another pair of footsteps echoes down the corridor, a voice, a metallic clatter. Someone too close. Adrian’s arm sweeps around my hips, hauling me flush against him, shielding me from view. It looks protective and feels scandalous.

We’re hidden in shadow and practically breathing each other’s air. One wrong move and we’ll be kissing. One right move and we still will.

“Adrian…” I whisper again, but this time it’s not a question. It’s a warning or maybe a surrender. He pulls back just enough to look at me. His hand slips from my back and suddenly I feel the absence of it like cold water, but something else hits me at the same time.

Hospitals teach you to recognize it,  the shift in air pressure before something goes bad, the instinct that someone is in the wrong room doing the wrong thing. I turn my head and at the end of the corridor, a thin strip of light spills from the auxiliary supply nook, the one that leads to the med vault. The door shouldn’t be open, not even a little.

“That door shouldn’t be unlocked,” I whisper.

Adrian steps forward. “Stay behind me.”

“Not a chance.”

We move together, fast, silent. My heart thunders in my ears. The closer we get, the worse the air feels, like the room is holding its breath. A soft shuffle, fabric brushing metal and a suppressed gasp. Someone is inside, I push the door open and the vault keypad glows green.

My stomach drops. Inside, a man freezes like a trapped animal, glove half-on, body angled between us and the open protected meds case. I know that face, one of the cousins’ aides, quiet, forgettable, loyal enough to fetch Selene’s floral samples and Kai’s spare keys. He shouldn’t be here, he definitely shouldn’t have the vault open.

“What are you doing?” I snap, stepping inside. He stammers, “I—I was just doing a miscount, I swear..”

“Don’t lie,” I bite out.

Adrian enters behind me, and the air changes completely. His shadow hits the man like a physical force.

“Step away from the vault.” His voice is terrifyingly calm. The aide’s eyes dart to the black restricted compartment, the one containing sedatives, narcotics, and crisis-level meds.  The door is propped open with a paper folder. He wasn’t counting,  he was stealing.

Adrian’s jaw flexes once before he crosses the room in three strides. One hand slams the vault door shut; the other fisting the aide’s shirt and pinning him to the counter hard enough that the crash cart rattles.

“Talk,” Adrian growls. “Who paid you?”

“I can’t,” the man whispers, shaking. “They said, if I talked..” Adrian leans in, voice low enough to kill. “If you don’t talk right now, you’re not walking out of here.”

The aide’s eyes fill with panic. “It’s… it’s them,” he breathes. “It’s..” But he doesn’t finish, a soft beep cuts through the air. Not from the vault or from us, but from the corridor. A motion sensor, tripped by someone else. Someone who didn’t want him talking. Adrian’s hand snaps out, sweeping me behind him. A reflex, a shield.

“Elara,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the doorway, voice like steel ready to break. “Stay close.” Because whoever is standing out there in the dark? They weren’t here by accident, and this moment, this breath, this heartbeat, is only the beginning.