I find myself tracking Serah's movements through the settlement with embarrassing frequency. Not stalking—I'm not that far gone—but awareness. Constant, relentless awareness of where she is, what she's doing, who she's talking to. My magic pulls toward her like iron to lodestone, that connection strengthening instead of fading despite my best efforts to suppress it.
She's been spending more time in communal spaces. Not socializing exactly, but existing near other people instead of hiding in corners or retreating to the women's quarters at first opportunity. Sometimes she helps Lola in the healing chambers. Other times she sits near the mess hall during evening meals, picking at food while observing clan dynamics with those sharp, watchful eyes.
And sometimes—more often than coincidence allows—she ends up at the river during evening hours. Sitting on that same boulder, knife in hand or tucked against her calf, just existing in the quiet space between settlement noise and wilderness dark.
I've started finding excuses to be there too.
Not every night. Don't want to seem desperate or possessive or like I'm monitoring her movements. But often enough that we've fallen into a pattern. She sits. I arrive. We talk or don't talk depending on her mood. Sometimes she tolerates my presence with wary silence. Other times she engages, sharp commentary and reluctant smiles that hit me like physical blows.
Those smiles are becoming a problem.
Every time I coax one from her, every laugh I manage to pull from that guarded exterior, something tightens in my chest until breathing becomes difficult. The attraction I felt initially—that pull my magic created, that curiosity about her story—has evolved into something more dangerous. More consuming.
I want her. Not just physically, though that aspect is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. But fundamentally. Want to know her thoughts, her fears, her hopes if she has any left after whatever she survived. Want to be the person she trusts, the presence that makes her feel safe instead of threatened.
Want things I have no right wanting from someone who flinches when people move too quickly.
The loss of control terrifies me. I've spent years mastering my magic, learning to suppress the constant barrage of emotions bleeding from everyone around me. Built walls and disciplines and careful distance to protect myself from drowning in others' pain. But Serah cracks those defenses like they're nothing. Like my entire lifetime of training evaporates the moment she looks at me with those amber-hazel eyes.
Training suffers. Badly.
Kaelen notices first, because of course he does. We're sparring in the yard three weeks after that initial river conversation, practice blades clashing in the familiar rhythm we've developed over years of friendship. Except I keep missingblocks, timing off, attention scattered like I'm a novice instead of a trained warrior.
He drives me back with a series of strikes I should counter easily, finally disarming me with a move I taught him years ago.
"Where's your head?" he demands, breathing hard.
I retrieve the practice blade from the dirt, frustration coiling through my shoulders. "Here."
"That's shit." He plants the tip of his weapon in the ground, leaning on the hilt. "You've been distracted for weeks. Sloppy. Slow. What's going on?"
Her scent reaches me before I can answer—that distinctive mix of river water and stolen soap and something fundamentally Serah underneath it all. She's walking past the training yard perimeter, basket balanced on one hip, heading toward the healing chambers with supplies Lola probably requested.
She doesn't look at me. Doesn't even glance in my direction. Just keeps walking, oblivious to the way my entire body orients toward her movement like she's magnetic north.
Kaelen follows my gaze, realization dawning across his features. "Oh."
"Don't," I warn.
"I'm not saying anything."
"Your face is saying plenty."
He grins, tusks flashing white. "My face is concerned for my best friend who's clearly got it bad for the human female he won't stop staring at."
"I'm not staring."
"You absolutely are. Been staring for weeks. Rakk..." He hesitates, expression shifting to something more serious. "You know you can actually pursue her, right? You're not required to just pine pathetically from a distance."
The suggestion sends heat through my veins, sharp and immediate. Pursue her. Court her properly instead of thesestolen moments by the river. Make my intentions clear instead of hiding behind casual friendship.
Except I can't. Because pursuing Serah means touching her more, means risking my magic spiraling further out of control, means potentially forming a bond that could destroy us both if I can't maintain proper boundaries.
"It's complicated," I mutter.
"Everything with you is complicated." Kaelen sheathes his practice blade, studying me with uncomfortable perception. "But maybe some things are worth the complication."
I don't have an answer for that. Don't know how to explain that wanting her and being good for her are two entirely separate concepts. That the pull I feel might be magical compulsion instead of genuine attraction. That I could hurt her worse than anyone already has if I lose control of abilities I've spent my entire life hiding.
