Deja Vu.

Keon's POV

Winter didn’t stay.

Of course she didn't.

For a few seconds after I return the hallway falls quiet again. She just stands there, arms folded loosely like she is still deciding whether to listen to me or not. I can feel the conflict in her through the bond. It flickers faintly, not strong enough to read clearly, but enough to know she is thinking too much.

Then she exhales.

“I just need a minute,” she says.

Before I can respond, she turns and walks away.

I watch her go.

My jaw tightens, but I don’t stop her.

Not immediately.

Because part of me knows that forcing her to stay will only make her push harder. And another part of me is still caught in everything Rowan just said, the warnings, the implications, the quiet accusation that something is building under all of this.

Still.

That doesn’t mean I like it.

I remain where I am for a moment longer, staring down the corridor where she disappeared. The palace is fully awake now. Guards pass in the distance, servants move through the halls, but none of it settles the unease sitting in my chest.

Something feels off.

It is not loud. Not obvious. Just a quiet shift in the air that my instincts refuse to ignore.

I push away from the wall and start moving.

Not rushing.

But not slow either.

My steps are measured, controlled, echoing faintly against the stone as I follow the direction she went. The bond makes it easy. I don’t need to guess. I can feel her, faint but steady, like a thread pulling me forward.

She hasn’t gone far.

Good.

As I turn the corner, I catch sight of her.

She is walking back.

Slower now.

Like whatever she went looking for didn’t give her what she wanted.

The moment she sees me, she stops.

So do I.

There is a brief silence between us, heavy and unspoken, before I take a few steps forward.

“At least you’re returning,” I say.

My voice is calm, but there is an edge to it I don’t bother hiding.

Her chin lifts slightly.

“I told you I just needed air.”

“And I told you to stay inside.”

Her brows draw together.

“I’m not a prisoner.”

“No,” I reply, stepping closer. “You’re not. But you are still a target.”

That makes her pause.

The defiance in her expression flickers slightly, not gone, but quieter now.

She looks away for a second, then back at me.

“I can’t just sit in a room and pretend everything is fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” I say. “You just have to be smart.”

Her lips press together.

“And walking around alone is not smart?” she asks.

“No,” I answer plainly.

The tension settles between us again, thick but controlled.

For a second, neither of us moves.

Then something shifts.

It is small.

So small that if I wasn’t paying attention, I might have missed it.

A scent.

Faint.

Wrong.

My body stills instantly.

My head turns slightly, eyes scanning the corridor without moving too much. The space looks the same. Empty. Quiet. Nothing out of place.

But my instincts do not agree.

Winter notices the change in me immediately.

“What is it?” she asks.

I don’t answer.

Not yet.

Because I am listening.

The air feels different now. Not heavy. Not loud. Just… disturbed. Like something passed through recently and left a trace behind.

My wolf stirs beneath my skin, alert and restless.

My gaze flicks back to her.

“Come here.”

She hesitates.

It is brief, but I see it.

“Winter,” I say again, sharper this time.

That does it.

She moves.

Quickly.

The moment she is within reach, I pull her behind me without thinking, my hand settling lightly at her arm as I position her out of direct view of the corridor.

Her breath catches.

“Keon—”

“Quiet.”

My voice is low now.

Controlled.

Focused.

I keep my eyes forward, scanning every inch of the space ahead, every shadow, every corner where something could be hiding.

But nothing moves.

Nothing steps forward.

Nothing reveals itself.

Only that faint scent remains, lingering just enough to confirm that I am not imagining it.

And then, slowly, even that fades.

Like it was never there.

My jaw tightens.

I don’t like that.

Not at all.

After a few more seconds, I ease slightly, though I don’t step away immediately.

Winter shifts behind me.

“Did you see anything?” she asks.

“No.”

“But you felt something.”

“Yes.”

She goes quiet.

I can feel the change in her now. The earlier defiance has been replaced with something sharper. Awareness. Unease.

Good.

She should feel it.

“We’re going back,” I say.

“No, wait—”

“Now.”

This time, there is no space for argument in my voice.

She hears it.

I know she does.

Because she doesn’t push again.

Instead, she nods slightly, and when I turn, she follows without hesitation.

We walk back the way we came, our steps quicker now, closer together than before. I don’t touch her again, but I don’t need to. The distance between us is small enough that I can feel her presence clearly.

The hallway seems quieter than it did earlier.

Or maybe I am just more aware of it now.

Either way, I don’t relax.

Not fully.

Not when something just slipped through my territory without being seen.

Not when she is still here.

And not when the feeling in my chest is telling me, very clearly, that this is only the beginning.