The forge still crackled with leftover heat from the day’s work, though the fire had long since dulled to embers. Rain tapped gently against the roof, a whisper compared to the storm that had passed.
Evie stood in the doorway, her cloak dripping, curls clinging to her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled—not just from the rain, but from something else. A fluttering inside her she couldn’t quite name.
“You’re soaked,” Kael said gruffly, barely looking up from the blade he was sharpening. But his eyes betrayed him—lingering just a little too long on her flushed cheeks, her damp dress.
“I brought you the balm you asked for,” she said, placing a small jar on his workbench. “For your hands.”
His gaze flicked to hers. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But I wanted to.”
The words hung there, warm as the forge itself.
Kael wiped his hands and stepped closer. He smelled faintly of smoke and metal, but there was something clean beneath it—like cedar and sun. The heat between them was no longer from the forge.
Evie swallowed. “Your hands… may I?”
He hesitated, then held them out. She took one gently in both of hers, running her fingers across the calloused skin. She began working in the balm, slow and careful. Her touch was soft, reverent.
“You’re always so careful,” Kael murmured, his voice low. “With plants. With people. With me.”
Evie didn’t look up. “You deserve careful.”
The silence between them pulsed, full of something too big for either of them to name yet.
When she finally raised her eyes, he was already watching her. His gaze dropped to her lips, then flicked away—ashamed of his own desire.
But she didn’t step back. She didn’t let go of his hand.
Instead, she whispered, “You don’t have to be alone in the fire.”
Kael’s breath caught. The magic that lived deep inside Evie stirred, warm and golden, blooming like a secret finally told. And for the first time in a long time, Kael didn’t feel dangerous.