Rain came without warning.
By dusk, the wind had howled down from the cliffs, bending trees and snapping branches. Aira moved quickly, gathering the herbs she needed to help Kael's healing. She was soaked by the time she returned.
He stood at the threshold of her cabin, his hair damp, one arm braced against the doorframe. The bandage at his shoulder was dark again with blood, but he didn't flinch. His eyes locked onto her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the present.
"I told you to rest," she scolded, cheeks flushing under the rain.
"I couldn't. I thought you might've…" He hesitated. "Vanished."
Aira blinked.
"I've had people walk away," he added. "But I've never had someone pull me back from death."
He stepped aside to let her in. Their shoulders brushed—heat bloomed where his skin grazed her wet cloak. She dropped her satchel, breath catching.
The fire was low. Shadows danced along the cabin walls.
"I'll brew a salve," she said, trying to steady her voice.
Kael moved closer. "Let me help."
"You shouldn't—"
"I want to," he interrupted, gently. "Let me… be close to you, Aira."
Her heart stuttered. She turned, and he was right there, closer than before. His scent was rain and cedar and something deeper—something that made her knees weaken.
"I saw you in my dream again," he said, voice low. "But this time… it wasn't the past."
Aira swallowed. "What did you see?"
"You in this room. Standing just like this. The rain outside. The firelight in your eyes."
Their hands brushed.
Not skin.
Just cloth.
Yet it was enough to spark something electric between them.
He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away.
She didn't.
His forehead touched hers, his voice barely a breath. "Tell me I'm not dreaming now."
She closed her eyes.
"You're not."
Then she felt it—his fingers slipping beneath her glove.
She tensed. "Kael—"
"Shh," he whispered. "I trust you. Let me see you. All of you."
And just like that—his hand met hers, skin to skin.
The room fell away.
---
They were in her memory now.
But not one Kael expected.
It was her, as a child, sitting by the fire while an old woman wove talismans from silver thread. Her grandmother. She was laughing, warm and alive. No fear. No judgment.
Kael saw Aira's eyes shine in wonder.
She used to be free, he realized. She used to be loved.
When the vision faded, they were back in the cabin.
Kael still held her hand.
His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist—tender, reverent. "You were beautiful even then."
Aira's breath hitched. "I've never let anyone see that."
"I'm honored."
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she let her other hand rise to his chest, resting over the thudding of his heart.
He leaned in again.
And this time, their lips met.
Slow. Searching. Not urgent, but aching. A kiss full of questions and answers neither had dared speak aloud.
When they parted, Aira's forehead rested against his, her voice trembling.
"If I stay too long… I'll get trapped. I'll disappear."
Kael looked into her eyes. "Then let me be your anchor."
The rain roared outside. The fire crackled softly behind them. In that storm-lit cabin, nothing else in the world mattered.
And Aira knew—
She wasn't afraid to be touched anymore.
Not by him.