Jeffery heard it.

Not a knock. Earlier than that, it was the downstairs door opening.

Then came Mrs. Ge’s lowered voice, that tone of mild surprise mixed with deliberate politeness—the voice she only used when speaking to “pretty young girls.”

The moment Jeffery heard it from upstairs, something in his entire body quietly loosened. He did not move immediately.

He stayed in the chair for another two seconds, letting that loosening settle, letting it sink from his chest into a place he could control.

Then he stood, smoothed the hem of his coat, and walked toward the door. He stopped in front of it.

One hand rested on the doorframe. He did not open it yet. He simply stood there with his head lowered, listening to her footsteps climbing the stairs one by one. That familiar tread, much lighter than his own. From the first step to the fifth. The ninth. Then the floorboard in the corridor gave a faint creak beneath her weight.

He opened the door.

Standing within the frame, light spilled from behind him and stretched his shadow down the corridor. That light fell across her. Across the clothes he recognized—the same ones she wore every time she slipped out unnoticed. Across her face.

He saw her. He said nothing.

He simply stood there. Let her remain at the boundary between light and darkness. Let himself remain there too. And let the silence of the past three days require no words at all in the moment their eyes met again. He simply let it slowly dissolve within that look.

The faint crease that so often rested between his brows was gone.

And in his eyes burned the fire that had never gone out during those three months, steadier and deeper now than ever before.

He stepped aside. Made room at the door. Made room for the warmth inside. Made room for the place where he had spent the entire evening waiting for her.

“Come in,” he said. His voice was low and deep, every word solid. “It’s cold outside.”

At his invitation, Anna hesitated. Then she stepped half a pace back.

Her gaze flicked briefly into the room. And the memories of that night immediately flooded back.

She had kissed him first.

She had straddled him.

She had guided his hands over her own body.

And then she had been refused.

Those were things she would never normally have done so easily.

They had humiliated her for three days.

This time, she did not want him to think she was some careless woman. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to go into your room. We can settle this out here.” She deliberately emphasized the words “go into your room.”

In an instant, all the intimacy they had built before those three days was pushed away.

Even the kisses might as well never have happened.

She was angry. Jeffery saw that half-step backward. He saw the retreat. He heard the deliberate distance placed inside the words “go into your room.” That distance was real. Held upright by her pride.

Built by three days of embarrassment, because she needed it in order to stand there and speak. He heard all of it.

Every bit. He did not explain. Nor did he try to reclaim that half-step she had taken away. He lowered his hand from the doorframe and moved back toward the doorway. The posture that had been turned slightly aside became one facing her directly.

He stood still.

Both hands resting naturally at his sides.

He let her remain in the corridor. Let the distance she had deliberately created remain exactly where it was. He looked at her for several seconds. And in those seconds, he saw a great deal.

The thing pressed down inside her eyes. The thing that refused to loosen easily. The thing she had wrapped in the words “settle this,” when something entirely different lay underneath.

He saw it. Clearly.

So clearly that his throat tightened faintly for one second.

Not because his voice was caught. It was more like a silent accusation turned inward at himself. Three days ago, he had been the one to stop.

He knew that. “All right,” he said. His voice was very low. No defense. No attempt to restore the mood between them. Only that one word, clean and final. “We’ll talk here.” He moved half a step aside from the doorway so that a little more light spilled into the corridor. Enough to fall where she stood. At least she would not have to speak in complete darkness.

Then he leaned against the wall beside the doorframe. His back rested against it. His hands remained at his sides.

His posture changed from that of a man standing above her in a doorway to someone simply sharing the same corridor with her. He did not say, “You misunderstood.” He did not say, “That night wasn’t what you think.” He did not offer a single word in his own defense first.

He only looked at her. Directly.

Steadily. Like someone ready to be questioned. Ready to answer. He left the air in the corridor to her. Let her speak first. Let her bring out everything she had been holding down for three days in whatever way she needed.

His response only made her angrier.

To her, it felt terribly cold. So cold that she thought he had never even wondered why she had stopped sending letters.

Never wondered why she now refused even to step into his room.

Her small hand clenched into a fist beneath the cloak. She drew in a deep breath.

She still did not want her emotions to break completely loose. But when she spoke, her words already came through gritted teeth. “What did you call me here for?” Her voice was cold. Imitating his.

The way those words landed made Jeffery’s eyes pause on her face.

He saw the tension in her jaw. Saw her throw his own cold tone back at him. Saw the small fist beneath her cloak—the one she thought she had hidden, though he had noticed it long ago.

He remained against the wall. Did not move. He knew what she was asking. Not the literal question. That one he could answer in three seconds. I wanted to see you. That was all.

Nothing more. But that was not what she was asking.

She was asking about that night. About the three days of silence. About the conclusion she had reached after turning it over again and again for three days—the conclusion she did not want to admit, but could no longer suppress.

He went through all of it in his mind.

Quickly. Then he straightened away from the wall. He stepped closer. Only one step. Enough that the distance between them shrank from opposite ends of the corridor to four or five paces.

Enough for the light to fall clearly across his face. Enough for her to see his eyes.

He spoke. “That night…” His voice was unadorned. Low and direct. Like a ruler laid flat across the floor to measure precisely the space between them. “I stopped because I wasn’t sure you truly wanted it.” He finished the sentence and did not continue. He let it stand there first. Between them. So she could hear it properly.

He watched her. The crease between his brows deepened slightly. Not confusion. It was the expression of someone forcing something outward that he was not accustomed to saying, still checking halfway through whether he truly intended to say it.

The expression lasted only briefly.

Then he flattened it again. But it had existed long enough for her to see. “You were too impulsive that night,” he said.

“I didn’t know whether your head was clear. I didn’t know whether you would regret it afterward. I didn’t know whether it was something you wanted only in that moment, or whether you had truly thought it through.”

His gaze never left her face. “I didn’t want you to regret it.”

The final sentence was lower than all the others. So low it seemed to come from somewhere in his chest where he rarely opened the door. “So I stopped. Not because I didn’t want you.”

The corridor went quiet. He stood there and let the silence remain.

Did not add another word. Because what could be said had already been said.

The rest he could not say. And had no intention of trying. But the fire in his eyes burned clearly beneath the corridor’s dim yellow light.

Completely uncovered. As though all the words left unsaid had been pressed into that gaze for her to read herself.

In that silence, countless emotions surged through Anna’s mind. She knew it was improper to make such a fuss over this. As though she were insisting that she had to become his.

What was so important about it anyway? Once this was all over, the worst that would happen was that she would marry that bastard Geelong. “I didn’t regret it then.”

Her fist tightened again. Anger raised her voice slightly.

“But I regret it now.” The voice itself contrasted strangely with her stubborn temperament.

It was soft and doll-like, making her sound much younger than she really was.

And when she became emotional, it cracked slightly. “I regret doing that that night. I regret making myself look like some woman who gives herself away too easily.” Her chest rose and fell sharply as she spoke.

The moment her voice broke, Jeffery went completely still.

Not because he deliberately chose to. It was the stillness that came when something struck a person head-on and the body stopped before the mind could react. He had heard her. He heard her call herself that.

He heard those words come from her own mouth, carrying a judgment of herself that made something inside his chest tighten abruptly. The judgment was wrong. So wrong that his jaw tightened without him realizing. He moved closer. This time, not merely one step. He crossed most of what remained of the corridor between them.

Stopped only two paces away.

Near enough for her to see every detail of his face. Far enough to leave her room to stand. “Listen to me,” he said. His voice was low. But something beneath it had changed. No longer the calm he had kept pressed down. Something deeper had pushed upward, touching the edges of every word.

“Nothing you did that night made you look careless. Not one thing. Not from beginning to end.” He looked directly at her. So directly that there was no room left to hide. “Do you know how I saw you that night?”

There was no upward lilt in the sentence. It was not really a question. It was simply the way he chose to say something he had confirmed over and over in his own mind for three days. “You were someone who knew what she wanted and had the courage to say it.”

“That wasn’t carelessness. That was you.” His brows drew together. More deeply than usual.

Like someone watching something good being described wrongly, damaged by the wrong words, with no way to reach out and correct it physically. “You said you regret it,” he continued. His voice dropped slightly. Low enough that the night wind in the corridor nearly carried it away.

“But the reason you regret it was never your fault. It was mine.” “I didn’t make you understand…” He paused. His throat moved.

Like a man pressing a hand firmly against the final door before deciding whether to open it. “I didn’t make you understand that my stopping didn’t mean I didn’t want you to be mine.” His gaze dropped to her clenched fist for a second.

Then returned to her face.

The thing burning in those amber eyes was so clear at this distance, in this darkness, that it looked like a lamp he had never once bothered to cover.

“You are not a careless woman.”

He said each word slowly.

Heavily.

As though pressing the sentence down into every wound she had given herself over the past three days.

“You are the person I spent seven years looking for.” “You know that.”

Anna went still when she heard him. Her fist loosened slightly.

But her body was still trembling. She did not know what she was supposed to say.

If she stopped arguing, it felt as though she had no pride.

If she continued arguing about this, it somehow also felt as though she had no pride. Her cheeks were flushed red with humiliation and hurt. Jeffery saw her fist loosen. He did not speak. Did not add anything else. He knew anything more would be unnecessary. He had said it. All of it. What remained was no longer his. It was hers. However much time she needed to process what she had carried for those three days, he could wait.

But he saw her trembling. It was not from the cold. There was a night wind, yes.

But not enough to make someone shake like this.

This was something else. The trembling of someone who had carried something unbearably heavy for three days, only to be told that she had been carrying it in the wrong direction all along. The body shaking before the weight had fully left.

Hurt. Something held in too long, finally shown an exit. Still unsure whether to step through. The flush across her cheeks beneath the corridor light struck something inside his chest. Hard. He remained silent for two seconds.

Then he moved. Slowly.

Slowly enough that she had time to see exactly what he was doing. He came closer. Stopped one step in front of her. Then raised his arms. One passed around her shoulders. And he drew her entire body into his chest.

Wrapped her in his arms. It was not tentative. Not a question.

It was the movement of someone who had already become certain of something. Steady. Deep. He let her bury her face against his chest. Rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. Wrapped the trembling person completely inside him.

He said nothing. His hand rested flat against her back. No patting.

No stroking. Just there. With the weight of: I am here. More direct than anything he had said. The corridor fell quiet. Only the night wind slipped through some unseen gap from time to time. Softly. Then vanished.

He stood there and took her weight. Took her trembling. Took everything they had both carried separately over those three days.

Now pressed together. Now allowed to sink into the silence.

His chin lowered slightly. Pulling her closer. “I made you suffer…” His voice was barely loud enough for her to hear.

It came from the deepest part of his throat, carrying a roughness he likely did not even realize was there.

“That was my fault.”

The moment she heard him say that he had made her suffer, Anna’s tears finally spilled over.

One drop. Then another. For three days, no matter how much she had overthought everything, she had not shed a single tear. And the little fist she had clenched so tightly began striking Jeffery’s chest again and again. As though venting her anger. As though defending the last shred of her pride. She had missed him. Truly missed him.

Otherwise she would not have slept so badly for three days.

When that small fist landed against his chest, Jeffery did not move at all. The first strike— he felt it. Felt the force. It was not strong.

It could not be. It was the kind of blow made by someone who had packed all her anger into her hand, but was too hurt even to keep her arm from trembling. It landed against him like anger that could not truly become rage. Like a movement she could not hide, one she could not even tell whether it came from being angry at him or feeling sorry for herself. The second strike—

his hand tightened slightly on her back.

Only slightly. The third— he lowered his head and pressed his chin more deeply into her hair.

As though sinking his entire body a little further toward her. He felt her tears. Not because he saw them. Because he felt the dampness slowly soaking through the fabric over his chest. From the place where her face was buried. One drop. Two. Then another. Not hurried.

Not loud. Simply falling.

Like the body making its own decision after finally finding somewhere to put down what it had carried for three days. He did not tell her not to cry. Did not say a single word asking her to stop. Because every one of those words would have been wrong. Instead, the arm around her moved slowly and carefully across her back. His palm shifted down from her shoulder blade.

Pressed her closer. Held her more firmly.

Firmly enough that every sob travelled through the place where their bodies touched. The little fist kept striking him. He felt each one.

Felt the anger in it gradually change. Strike by strike. As the tears continued. What had begun as fury slowly lost that shape. It was no longer anger. It became the kind of motion that continued after someone had cried so long she no longer knew why she was still crying.

Like rain after the thunder had already gone.

Only the rain remained. Jeffery’s throat moved faintly. “Keep hitting me,” he said. His voice was barely there. Spoken against the top of her head. “When you’re done, you won’t be angry anymore.” Something moved very slightly at the corner of his mouth.

Not a smile.

More like a man who almost never allowed himself to soften finding one place where there was no boundary left to defend. Only a tiny loosening. So small that perhaps only the night wind in that corridor ever saw it.

He did not let her go. He simply stood there in the night. Holding her.

Letting her fists fall. Letting her tears fall.

Letting all the weight they had each carried alone through three days of darkness sink, little by little, into the chest he had given her to lean against.

After several blows, her anger truly did fade. She reclaimed a little of her pride too. She stayed quietly in his arms. No longer moving. Even her tears stopped. The great stone that had pressed against her heart was finally gone. Then suddenly, a night wind swept through the corridor. Anna’s hair stirred lightly.

The movement carried the fragrance of it with the breeze.

“It’s cold… standing here.” She said it while still pressed against him. As though she wanted to go into his room, but was far too proud to say so directly. When the wind passed, Jeffery felt her shrink slightly. It was a tiny movement.

But he noticed. Noticed her bury her face a little deeper against his chest. Noticed her fingers quietly tighten in the fabric of his clothes.

Then heard her say “cold” so softly that the word almost seemed to slip from her mouth by accident.

So softly that she herself might have been checking whether it was loud enough for him to hear. She was still in his arms. Still had not moved. Jeffery lowered his head and looked at the top of her hair. Several strands lifted by the wind had not yet settled back down. They carried that scent of hers—the one he had thought about too many times during the past three days—briefly through the air beneath his chin. Something moved softly in his throat.

Something he rarely allowed anyone to see. “A moment ago…” He spoke quietly. His voice low.

Holding a faint warmth beneath the calm, one he probably did not even realize had slipped through. “Who was it that said she wasn’t coming inside?” He did not smile. His face remained composed. But the way he said it— the slight emphasis in the words, the volume meant only for her, the faint vibration she could feel through his chest as he spoke— there was something inside all of that he almost never gave away.

Yet now it was simply there. Like a door lowered without a sound.

He did not wait for her answer.

Did not make her say the sentence she likely could never bring herself to admit aloud. His hand moved from her back to her shoulder. Very gently. So gently. He guided her slightly toward the room.

Not pushing. Leading.

The movement of someone who already knew where the other person wanted to go and chose to carry half the weight of that first step for her.

So she did not have to move first.

So she could simply follow him inside. So her pride never had to touch the floor at all. The door remained open. The lamp still burned. Its light filled the small room with warmth. Once inside, everything looked exactly as it had before. The air carried the same familiar scent. She drew in one quiet breath without making it obvious.

Let his smell fill her nose.

Her heartbeat quickened again.

Then she saw the sofa. The place where three days earlier they had nearly gone further. She swallowed. For a moment, she had no idea where to sit. Jeffery followed her in and closed the door softly behind them. He did not speak immediately. Let her stand there.

Let her gaze fall wherever it wished. He remained one step behind her, adjusted the collar of his coat, then walked to the table. He turned the lamp wick slightly. Made the light warmer. Less direct. He saw her looking at the sofa. How could he not? The way her gaze fell there.

The way she swallowed. The way she stood uncertainly, as though she did not know where to place her feet.

He saw all of it. So clearly that a faint heat began at the side of his neck and crept upward from beneath his collar.

He pulled his usual chair away from the table. Then crossed to the sofa and sat there himself. On one side. Naturally. As though it were only an ordinary place to sit. As though that sofa carried no memory at all. He looked up at her.

Tilted his chin faintly toward the chair. “Sit,” he said.

His voice low and even. “The tea is still warm. Mrs. Ge made it this evening.” Then he looked away toward the teapot. Stood. Took out two cups. Poured the tea. Pushed one toward the edge of the table where she could easily reach it. Then returned to the sofa. Sat.

Wrapped both hands around his cup and let the warmth seep between his fingers. He gave her the chair. He took the sofa. The arrangement left the width of a table between them. It meant he alone had to carry the memory attached to that sofa.

She would not have to sit there and relive every detail of three nights ago. She could sit more easily. Think less. He lowered his gaze to the tea. Felt the warmth of the cup in his palms. Said nothing.

Let the new silence settle for a while.

Let it slowly replace the air from the corridor that had still been filled with tears and hurt. Anna walked to the chair Jeffery had pulled out. She hesitated. Then slowly sat down. Her hands rested on her knees.

But her fingers tapped restlessly against her leg. Again. Again. Without rhythm.

She looked up at Jeffery once. Then lowered her eyes. She had no idea what to say. Sitting in this room— this place saturated with his scent— always made her feel unbearably aware of herself. But this time, she was afraid that if she took the initiative again, she would humiliate herself all over again. Jeffery was not looking at her directly.

But he saw it. The hand on her knee. The restless tapping. The glance she gave him. The way she immediately lowered her head again.

Every part of her body held tight in that chair. He noticed all of it. Did not expose any of it.

He simply kept his head lowered, using the cup in his hands as a reason not to do anything too quickly. Then he set the cup down. Very softly.

The sound clicked once in the quiet room. “Anna.”

He called her name. Not loudly.

But clearly enough in the silence to give her a reason to look up. He waited. Until she did. Until her eyes met his. Then he said, “Next time you want something, tell me directly.” He spoke in the same tone he used when discussing plans. Routes. Things he had already checked over several times. Even. Straightforward. Without extra warmth wrapped around it.

And because of that, the sentence landed even more heavily. Completely uncovered.

As though he had simply said exactly what he needed to make clear. Nothing more. His brows were smooth. “It doesn’t mean I’ll always do exactly what you ask just because you say it,” he continued, his voice slightly lower.

“But if you don’t tell me, I have to guess.”

“If I guess wrong, you get hurt.” “And I don’t feel good either.” His fingers rested lightly on the table beside the cup. Still. Just there. “These three days…” The words were shorter than everything he had said before. And somehow heavier. When he spoke them, his gaze drifted slightly aside. Toward the window he had looked through every morning during those three days.

Only for a moment. Then it returned to her face. “I haven’t been doing well either.” After that, he said nothing more.

He left the admission sitting there on the table between them. No explanation. No elaboration. Simply allowed it to exist.

The tea beside her still gave off steam. Thin white strands.

Slowly disappearing in the lamplight.

At his words, Anna lowered her head again.

This time, she bit her lower lip. Her eyes were still slightly red. Tell him directly? How?

Tell him that she could hardly stop herself from wanting to kiss him? Touch him? That looking at him made her heart race? That when he touched her, her whole body grew hot? She let out a sigh. It was unintentional. Perhaps she had not even meant to do it. She only wanted to smooth out her disordered breathing. “I…” She began.

Then stopped for several seconds.

As though trying to control whatever words might come out next. “I understand…” Jeffery heard the words. And he heard the pause before them. He heard everything inside that “I…” that never became words.

He heard the accidental sigh. Understood the shape of it. He recognized that sound.

The sound of someone with too many things spinning inside her mind, forced to compress all of them into a single breath and let it out.

He did not ask what she had nearly said. He only looked at her lowered head. At the lip she had bitten. At the faint redness still lingering around her eyes. He took all of it in.

Let it form something clear inside his mind. Then kept it there quietly. He stood. Walked to the table. Picked up her cup. Then came to the side of her chair and crouched down. Lowered himself until he was level with her eyes.

He placed the cup between her hands. Let her fingers close around its warmth. And stayed crouched in front of her. Did not stand. Kept himself at a height that did not look down on her. He lifted his face. Looked at her. At this close distance, his amber eyes gathered every detail of her face. Gently. Like confirmation. Like a question.

Like checking once more something whose answer he already knew. “You don’t have to explain everything perfectly,” he said.

His voice was low. Close. “Say what you can.” “And what you can’t say…” He paused.

His eyes held hers for a second. “I can see.” He did not move after that. Stayed crouched in front of her. Let the warmth of the tea hold the silence. Let this distance bring all the words from three days ago— the ones never spoken, the ones spoken clearly, the ones misunderstood—

back into a place both of them could reach. No hurry. No pressure. Simply there.

As he always had been. With the distance between them shortened, Anna looked into his eyes.

Rarely had she been able to see them this clearly. There was a fire inside them too. What that fire meant, she only half understood.

She had seen something similar in Geelong’s eyes before. But this felt completely different. Her fingers traced the rim of the cup.

Her palm was hot. She could not tell whether it came from the tea or from her own body.

“What can you see…?” She asked quietly.

Her voice gradually softened back into its usual delicate tone.

She wanted to know. What exactly did he see in her? Jeffery did not answer immediately. He looked at her. At the hand tracing the edge of the cup. At the expression that had softened with her voice.

At the thing in her eyes she herself only half understood.

He took all of it in first. Then spoke. “I see lime dust on your cloak every time you come here,” he said. His voice low and unhurried. Like describing something he had counted many times. “It’s in different places each time.” “That means you change your route.”

“Because you know taking the same path makes it easier for someone to notice.”

He paused. “I see that you’ve lived in that place for eighteen years, and you still haven’t let it shape you into what it wants.” He continued. “You’re still yourself.” “You still climb towers.” “You still slip out wearing plain clothes.”

“You still corner a wandering man on a staircase and interrogate him about everything.”

His eyes never left her face. “I saw you today too…” His voice softened there. Taking on that same quality he had only allowed her to hear out in the corridor. “You cried.” “Hit me a few times.” “Drank some tea.”

“And you’re still sitting here.” The faintest curve appeared at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile.

Gone almost immediately. “You think you care too much about pride,” he said. “But everything you do follows your heart.” “Straight ahead.”

“So directly that you end up frightening even yourself.” He looked up at her. At this distance, the fire in his eyes was no longer something buried and restrained. It was fire that had finally been given enough air. Clear. Steady. Warm enough for someone close to feel.

“That’s what I see,” he said. “Every bit of it.”

Hearing him describe details she herself had never noticed—

she realized he was right. She did change her route. And she had never once mentioned it when she came.

She had lived in the palace for eighteen years and still fought for the things she wanted. Even though most of those battles eventually ended in compromise.

She still had not changed who she was.

And then she realized something else.

He had always been paying attention to her. He simply had not said it.

He had always kept her matters somewhere in his mind.

He simply behaved as though he had not. He had always been watching her.

His gaze was simply difficult to notice.

For the first time, her heart felt so full. So full that it frightened her.

As though this might all be a dream. As though she might wake and find nothing there. But if she kept worrying about pride— then it truly would become only a dream. “I…” She paused. Then set the cup down on the table.

“I missed you so much…” Before the sentence had fully left her mouth, she had already reached for Jeffery.

Wrapped both arms around him. Held him tightly. The words had not even completely landed before her arms were around his neck. Jeffery was still crouched. She leaned down from the chair and embraced him. The force was stronger than he expected.

Strong enough to pull his body slightly forward.

One knee remained against the floor. The other braced beside the chair leg. The embrace itself seemed to steady him. He froze for one second. Only one. Not because he was surprised.

Because of the way those words entered his ear.

Something inside his chest that had been clenched like a fist for three days finally—

slowly— opened. Three days. She said she had missed him. The words were shorter than almost anything he had said tonight.

Yet heat moved through him from throat to fingertips. Deep. Solid. Reaching some place inside him that no one had filled during seven years of wandering. His arms rose. Wrapped around her back. Held her tightly. Not the consoling embrace from the corridor. This was something else. An embrace that left no space for her to doubt. His palm was large enough to cover much of her back. Inside his arms, she seemed very small.

Small enough that the urge to protect her quietly rose inside him. Spread into something he could not even name. He lowered his head. Buried his face against the side of her neck. Let his temple rest against the thin skin behind her ear.

At this distance, the fragrance of her hair surrounded him completely. He drew in a deep breath. Slowly. As though pressing that scent into the very bottom of his chest. “Me too…”

The words came muffled against her neck. Low. Deep. Carrying something he had not shown anyone during those three days. “These three days…” He paused. “Were hard.” His arms tightened again.

Pulled her closer. The position—him crouched in front of her chair—was hardly graceful.

But there was no space left between them. He did not say: I missed you too. He said: It was hard.

But what filled those words was obvious enough in the way his face remained buried against her neck.

Feeling his face against her skin, the heat of him pressed to her neck, that familiar tingling sensation began spreading outward again. Her hands moved across his back.

Feeling the firm shape of his body beneath the fabric. What she had felt three days before returned. Stronger now.

She breathed out deeply.

The breath brushed the tip of his ear. She wanted to kiss him again. Anywhere. It did not matter. She only wanted to kiss him.

Her lips finally landed against the rim of his ear. Once. Then again. She could not bring herself to stop. Even the small sounds of her lips meeting his skin reached Jeffery’s hearing. The instant her breath grazed his ear, something like electricity ran down the back of his neck.

From his ear.

Into his neck. Across his shoulders. Down his back. Along his spine. Fast. Clear. His whole body tightened slightly. Then her lips touched him. Light. Very light. Warm with her breath. The sensation passed through the thin skin of his ear as though entering directly into his blood. Once. Then again.

The sound was so faint only he could hear it.

Yet by the third kiss, his lower abdomen tightened hard. His hand closed more firmly against her back. Not the gentle pressure of comfort. This was the kind of tension that came when restraint began loosening at the edges and the fingers used more force without permission. His knuckles pressed against her back. He could feel the curve of her spine through the fabric. Could feel her hands moving over him. Across his shoulder blades. Along his waist. Across every line of muscle shaped by seven years of walking and swordsmanship.

His breathing began to lose its even rhythm. Only slightly.

But he noticed. He could feel his heartbeat. The speed of it behind his ribs. She kissed his ear again. This time, her lips remained there a little longer. Warm against his skin.

Holding everything she still had not said. A low sound threatened to rise in Jeffery’s throat. He forced it down. Pressed it into the deepest part of his voice. But only the sound could be suppressed. Not the feeling. That could not be suppressed.

From the very first kiss, he had already known that.

Slowly, he lifted his face from the side of her neck. He did not move away. Only raised his head enough to see her face. At this distance. Their foreheads nearly touching. He looked at her. At the thing burning in her eyes. The same thing that had been there three days ago.

Only clearer now. “Anna…” Her name came from his throat more hoarsely than ever before. “You remember what I told you…” It was not a question. It was confirmation. A final chance for her to say: I remember. I’ve thought about it. I still want this.

His gaze remained fixed directly on her face. The fire in his amber eyes had lost every layer of restraint it had carried over the past three months. Only the fire itself remained. Clear. Intense. Almost enough to set his entire body alight.

His hand moved from her back to her waist. His palm enclosed the curve there. His thumb pressed lightly into the fabric at her side.

The pressure at her waist came almost at the same moment as his question. She stopped kissing him. But her lips still rested against the rim of his ear.

“I remember.” She kissed him once more.

“That’s why I came…”

The Caged Bird and the Wandering Sword