Seamus, now changed into his working casual wear, made his way down the cliffside just outside Puerto Cuidad, Kenneth close behind. A determined look settled on his face—he couldn't afford to waste time. Every second mattered during a cave-in. He'd seen enough disasters to know that delay meant death.
Before he ever became Viscount, before the title and power were forced upon him after the death of his beloved uncle, Seamus had worked these very mines. As a former foreman, his voice still carried weight. The moment they arrived at the panicked site, he took command with ease and grit.
His pickaxe slammed against rock again and again, sweat pouring from his brow. Kenneth and the other workers followed his lead, shoulders straining as they dug with focused intensity. The work went well into the night.
When they finally reached the trapped miners—thankfully alive—Seamus exhaled in relief. No loss of life. Only minor injuries.
The healer saw to the wounded while Seamus oversaw final safety checks. It was only when every man was accounted for that he allowed himself to stop. As he and Kenneth made their way back to the estate, sore and dust-covered, one thought returned to him again and again:
Is Elena still awake?
Meanwhile, Elena waited for Windswept Manor to grow still.
Once the halls were quiet and the moon hovered high on the horizon, she pulled out a worn pack of divination cards from her tattered carpet bag. She lit a single candle on the table near her window, the flickering light painting gold shadows on her face as she began to shuffle.
No words passed her lips, only thoughts whispered from soul to soul.
How do our souls know each other so well? Is this match a mistake?
Eyes closed, she pulled three cards and placed them face down. Slowly, reverently, she flipped them.
The Tower. The Lovers. The Five of Coins.
She gasped softly. The message was undeniable.
A past life. Something undone. Pain and love entangled. And now… a chance to fix what once went wrong.
She placed the cards back in their pouch but left the candle burning as she changed into her nightclothes. Slipping beneath the covers, she tried to coax herself into sleep.
But the moment her breathing slowed, the candle's flame flared deep crimson. The wax began to drip—thick, dark drops like falling blood.
Elena didn't sleep. Not really.
Her mind filled with visions of war. A battlefield soaked in loss. A yearning so deep, so ancient, it curled into her ribs like thorns.
She awoke with tears on her cheeks.
"What the actual hell happened to us?" she whispered to the ceiling of her four-poster bed.
She sat up with a sigh—and froze.
Seamus was beside her.
She hadn't even noticed the weight of his arm draped across her waist. Shirtless and dirt-smudged, his chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm. When she moved, he stirred, cracking open one eye and smiling up at her.
"Mmm… what a nice dream," he murmured, burying his face in her hair. He pulled her close without thought or hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Elena stiffened, unsure of what to feel.
Is this bond making him obsessed? To be this enmeshed, this… clung to… can't be healthy. Right?
But despite the swirling questions and creeping unease, the warmth of his body drew her back beneath the covers. His arms around her, his skin against hers, lulled her into the first peaceful sleep she'd had in days.
Whatever this was… it was far from over.