Page 100 of Iron Beneath the Snow

“I saw.”

Of course he had.

Eira held his gaze, studying him more openly now.

“And?” she asked.

For a fraction of a second, his jaw tightened before easing again, the reaction so slight it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else.

“The hall is relaxed tonight,” he said. “That makes it less secure.”

It was the kind of answer he would give anyone.

Careful. Functional. Removed.

A shield.

Eira felt the shape of it immediately, and this time the hint of a smile that touched her mouth carried no warmth, only recognition.

“You came to warn me,” she said.

“I came to make sure you reached your quarters safely.”

“And is that an objective,” she asked quietly, “or a choice?”

The question settled between them, not sharp, but impossible to ignore.

Soren did not look away.

“You already know my answer,” he said.

Her pulse shifted, not because of what he said, but because of what he chose not to.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then inclined her head slightly.

“Then goodnight.”

She turned back toward the corridor.

Behind her, he did not move at once.

When she reached the door to her quarters, the thread between them tightened again, not painfully, but with a quiet insistence that made her pause with her hand resting against the latch.

“I smiled tonight,” she said, without turning.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then his voice, lower now, more controlled than before:

“I noticed.”

Eira let the door close behind her, shutting out the corridor as the sound of the hall faded into a distant pulse through the stone.

The warmth of the fire still lingered in her skin, in the loose fall of her hair, in the steady rhythm of her breath as she sat down at the edge of the bed.

After a moment, the smile returned—quieter now, smaller, but no less real, like something held carefully rather than hidden.

Not because she had been seen. Not because she had been chosen.