010.

Zelest’s POV. 

I woke up to an empty space beside me and although the faint scent of vanilla was still clinging to the pillow, Liam was gone.

The heat from his body still lingered, seared into the sleeping bag like a mark. My fingers brushed the space where his arm had been wrapped around me and I remembered—how he’d held me tight in his arms like I belonged there.

And how I’d buried my hand in his hair. Goddess.

I rubbed my face, half-embarrassed, half… something else. Something I couldn’t name.

By the time I made it out of the tent, the camp was already bustling with people who had tasks to perform. Liam stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his usual stoic expression perfectly on his face.

He didn’t look at me.

I walked toward him, and his posture stiffened. Still no eye contact. Still avoiding me like I’d done something unspeakable.

So that’s what this was. He was rattled by what had transpired between us.

I watched him give crisp responses to the camp leader, his jaw ticking every time I shifted a little closer. He was bottling something in, repressing every bit of what he’d felt and and he could. 

I knew he was, because I could feel it through the bond. He was remembering the way we woke up too. And it scared him. That realization made something flicker in my chest.

I took a slow step toward him and leaned in just enough to speak under my breath, “You’ve been quiet all morning, Moonfang.”

His jaw clenched at how close I was to him.

“Is it because I held you, or because you didn’t hate it?”

Liam didn’t look at me. He couldn’t. 

His eyes flicked to the forest, to the sky, anywhere but mine in an attempt to avoid my gaze. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hawthorne.”

And yet, he said that with every bit of uncertainty and confusion in his voice. 

I took another step, closing the space between us with a small smile. “So it’s the second one.”

He turned sharply. “We have a project to finish.”

“Right,” I said with a smirk, letting him retreat behind his walls again. “Rogue Psychology. You ready to psychoanalyze some unpredictable, unstable minds?”

He exhaled, clearly relieved for the subject change. “We’re profiling low-level rogues today. I’ve already arranged to observe one of the captured patrol cases by sundown.”

“What, you want us to sit in front of some bloodthirsty mutt and hope he tells us about his trauma?” I asked.

Liam gave me a sideways glance. “That ‘mutt’ might give us the behavioral markers we need to complete the second half of the assignment and be done with this earlier than expected.”

The way he said ‘this’ and the possibility of what it meant—us getting closer with every passing day—didn’t slip through my mind, but instead, I asked, “Which includes?” 

“Pattern recognition. Triggers. Pre-shift trauma cues.” He paused. “And whether their rogue state is reversible.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what if they snap and try to kill us?”

Liam finally met my gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Then we’ll know what provokes them.”

I smiled faintly. There he was—calm, calculating, and completely unfazed. That was the Moonfang I know.

But I could still feel the way his arm wrapped around my waist in the middle of the night. And from the slight twitch in his fingers, I knew he could feel it too.

I followed him through the forest path toward the holding pen where the rogue was being kept, but I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

“So,” I began casually, “about last night…”

Liam didn’t respond. His shoulders tensed slightly, but he kept walking.

“You’re really not going to talk about it?” I pressed. “You don’t want to unpack how you woke up with your arm around me like I was your personal heater?”

“Drop it, Hawthorne.”

A grin flashed on my face. “You said my name in your sleep.”

That stopped him in his tracks. Liam turned slowly with his brows furrowing into a frown. “I did not.”

“You totally did.” I stepped closer. “What were you dreaming about, prince? Be honest. Was it… steamy?”

Liam looked away, jaw clenched. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m serious,” I said, half-laughing now. “You kept holding me tighter. Felt like you were trying to fuse our souls or something. Is that the bond? Or were you just really into the moment?”

He exhaled sharply, clearly trying to keep it together.

“Also,” I added, lowering my voice as I leaned in, “did you get a hard on?”

Liam whipped his head to me, eyes wide with horror. “What—?!”

I wiggled my eyebrows. “It’s a valid question.”

His face flushed crimson as he turned away. “We’re here to work. That’s what I’m doing.”

I chuckled as he marched ahead stiffly, clearly rattled. I was enjoying this little moment more than I should’ve. 

I trailed behind Liam as we got to the makeshift study area by the edge of the camp. He had gone quiet  in that way he always got when something dug too deep beneath his skin.

So, I let it go. Even I knew the limits and when to stop. 

We worked in silence. Spread notes, the project outline, behavioral charts—all scattered between us like some broken puzzle we were trying to fit back together.

My elbow knocked over a vial tucked carelessly between the flasks. The thick blue liquid splashed across my arm and a few drops hit Liam’s shirt. A wince escaped my lips as the elixir stung my arm.

“Blackthorn Elixir,” he said instantly, voice tight. “It corrodes skin with extended exposure.”

Without hesitation, Liam grabbed a cloth from the kit and moved to me swiftly. His fingers brushed my skin as he dabbed the cloth against the spilled spot with an oddly tender movement. I could feel the heat of his body, his breath fanning against my jaw.

His hand gripped my forearm to steady me, the other blotting gently at the fabric over my chest where the elixir had reached. Our faces were inches apart. I could feel the warmth of his breath on me as our scents mingled. 

The air between us thinned, my lungs seemed to forget how to function.

Then something flickered in his eyes—panic, restraint. Without a word, he shoved the cloth into my hands and stepped back like I burned him.

“Clean yourself up,” he muttered before turning away sharply.

I didn’t stop him.

But my chest tightened, breath catching—not from the sting of the elixir, but from the look I’d seen on his face. He was in pain. And for the first time… so was I. 

The rest of the day moved in a crawl as I tried to get some work done. At the end of the day, dusk came without a lot achieved, and Liam, nowhere to be found. 

The night air was thick with silence, the subtle chirps of crickets filling the air. 

I stirred beneath the thin blanket, eyes fluttering open to the faint rustle near the tent’s edge. I couldn’t help but ask if it was Liam—he had a habit of sometimes shuffling in and out for water or whatever task he deemed important enough to avoid sleeping near me too long.

But then I heard it—soft, deliberate steps.

“Moonfang?” I whispered, voice low, teasing, expecting a grunt or some snarky response but none came.

I sat up slowly, blinking into the darkness. A silhouette moved just outside the tent’s mesh. Still, I assumed it was him—maybe sulking again after how weird things had gotten between us.

But then it hit me. The scent that clouded my nostrils. It was nothing like Liam. My entire body stiffened.

This scent was all wrong—feral and sharp. My blood turned cold in my veins.

Rogue.

I barely had time to reach for the blade beneath my blanket before the flap shifted, and I caught the glint of wild eyes in the dim light.

Too close. Too fast.

And I’d sensed it a second too late.