Seraphina arranged the divorce documents with methodical precision while Caelan organized Ember Sanctum materials on the opposite side of the oak desk. One week at Flamekeep had transformed the master study into their command center, though boxes still crowded the walls.
Their rooms shared a wall. She could hear him moving around in the mornings, the quiet sounds of someone trying not to wake a neighbor. Sometimes she caught herself listening for those sounds before she was fully awake.
"Financial evidence here." She gestured toward neat stacks. "Witness statements there. Proof of Alaric's affairs with Evelyne there."
The soulfire bond hummed between them. Every accidental brush of fingers over shared documents sent electricity racing through the connection. Living so close made the bond's pull constant. She was always aware of his presence, his moods, the way his heartbeat changed when she entered a room.
"Sanctum timeline?" Caelan's voice carried that rough quality it developed when he fought the bond's pull.
"Two months to complete the three flame rituals before the window closes." She looked up to find him studying her instead of the scrolls. "What?"
"Nothing." But through the bond, she felt his thoughts. How morning light caught in her hair. How intense she looked while strategizing. How he'd heard her pacing last night through their shared wall, wanting to knock but not daring to cross that boundary.
Dangerous territory. Made worse by proximity.
"We should maintain focus," she said, though her pulse quickened.
"Should we?" He moved around the desk, stopping close enough that she caught his scent. Cedar soap and something darker. "The bond makes focus... challenging. And living next door to you..."
She felt his heartbeat through their connection. Fast. Unsteady.
"Caelan."
"I know." His hand rose to cup her face. "I know this complicates everything. Sharing this space, hearing you breathe through the walls. But I can't pretend anymore."
The bond flared. Every careful barrier they'd maintained dissolved. She felt his want, his need, the way he'd been fighting this for weeks while living close enough to touch.
"We're strategic partners," she whispered. "Professional allies who happen to be neighbors."
"Are we?" His thumb traced her cheek. "Because what I feel through this bond isn't professional. And what I feel when I hear you moving around next door definitely isn't neighborly."
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The connection made lying impossible, and proximity made hiding impossible.
"What do you feel?" she asked.
"You." His forehead touched hers. "Everything. Your thoughts, your emotions through the bond. Your presence through the wall. The way you try so hard to stay controlled when I can feel how much you want this too."
True. All of it.
"This is a mistake," she said.
"Probably." He smiled, and she felt his amusement through the bond. "But I'm done pretending I don't care about you. Done pretending I don't listen for your footsteps."
"Care about me?"
"More than care." His hand moved to her neck, fingers threading through her hair. "Much more. I've been falling asleep to the sound of you working late next door. Waking up hoping I'll hear you moving around."
The admission hit like lightning. Through the bond, she felt the depth of his feelings. Not just attraction. Not just partnership.
Love. Real, complicated, impossible love.
"Caelan..."
He kissed her.
Soft at first, then deeper when she didn't pull away. The bond exploded with shared sensation. She could feel what he felt, taste what he tasted, experience the kiss from both perspectives simultaneously.
This is what the soulfire bond was meant for.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. He backed her against the desk, careful not to disturb the documents while his mouth claimed hers with devastating precision.
"I've wanted this," he murmured against her lips. "Since the moment you healed me. Every night listening to you through that wall."
She felt the truth through their connection. The want he'd buried, the need he'd denied, the way he'd fallen for her without meaning to. How proximity had made everything harder and sweeter.
"The bond makes everything intense," she managed.
"This isn't just the bond." His hands framed her face. "This is choice. This is me wanting to knock on your door every night and never having the courage."
Choice. The word hung between them like a promise.
The door opened behind them.
They broke apart, breathing hard. Yona stood in the doorway holding a leather portfolio, her expression carefully neutral but knowing. She'd probably heard everything through these thin walls.
"My lady. My lord." Her voice carried no judgment. "The morning correspondence."
Professional distance slammed back into place, but the bond still hummed with shared awareness. The knowledge that they'd go back to being neighbors, sharing that wall, hearing each other exist.
"Thank you," Seraphina said, accepting the portfolio.
Yona left, closing the door with deliberate softness.
"We should..." Seraphina started.
"Discuss this later," Caelan finished. "When we're not surrounded by legal documents and ritual preparation."
She nodded, but through the bond she felt his reluctance to return to business. The way he wanted to continue what they'd started. How he was already thinking about tonight, about the shared wall between them.
Later.
"The correspondence first," she said, opening the portfolio.
Most letters were routine. Updates from allies, legal confirmations, supply requests. But one document made her pause.
Investigation findings. Marked with Caelan's seal.
"What's this?" She held up the report.
Caelan went still. "Correspondence. Nothing urgent."
But through the bond, she felt his spike of anxiety. His careful neutrality felt forced. All those nights next door, he'd been carrying this secret.
"It's marked 'House of Fire.' What does that mean?"
The moment she said the words, she felt his emotional response through the bond. Fear. Guilt. Protective panic. The connection made lying impossible - she could feel that this designation meant something significant to him.
"Seraphina..."
"You've been investigating something about my family." Not a question. Through the bond, she could feel his reluctance, his protective instincts, the way her question had triggered memories he'd been hiding. "What did you find?"
"Nothing that changes our current strategy."
"Show me."
"It's not necessary for... "
"Show me." Her voice carried steel. "Don't make me order you."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then pulled another folder from the drawer. His hands shook slightly.
"Your father's death," he said quietly. "I had it investigated."
The words hit like ice water. "What?"
"The official records were wrong. He wasn't killed by heart failure."
She sank into the chair, portfolio forgotten. "How?"
"Thornspike poison. Disguised as natural death." Caelan's voice turned clinical. "They corrupted his food taster, altered medical records, bought off witnesses."
"They?"
"House Vessant. Alaric's parents orchestrated it. They'd been planning the systematic elimination of noble families with imperial bloodline claims."
The room spun. "His parents?"
"Your father discovered the pattern before they killed him. But there's more - Alaric's parents were found dead six months later. Made to look like accidents."
Through the bond, she felt Caelan's controlled fury, his protective rage, his guilty relief at finally telling her. But also something else - his own confusion about the larger forces at work.
"Someone is using noble families as tools," he continued quietly. "Your father's investigation suggested the conspiracy reaches much higher than House Vessant. Alaric may not even know what his parents were truly involved in."
"Seventeen families," he continued. "All eliminated over the past twenty years. Your father identified the connections before they silenced him. Someone powerful enough to use noble families like pawns, then dispose of them when they'd served their purpose."
"How long have you known this?"
His hesitation told her everything. All those nights next door, working late, carrying this burden while she planned her trials.
"How long, Caelan?"
"Weeks."
The word hit like a physical blow. "Weeks."
"I wanted to protect you from... "
"Protect me?" She stood, documents scattering. "Protect me from the truth about my own father's murder?"
"You were already carrying so much. The Ember Sanctum trials, the divorce, rebuilding your life. I didn't want to add more pain."
"That wasn't your choice to make."
Through the bond, she felt his desperate need to justify his actions, his genuine belief that he'd been shielding her. But now the proximity felt like surveillance. Had he been listening through the wall, monitoring her stress levels?
"I was going to tell you after the trials... "
"After the trials." Her voice turned deadly quiet. "After I'd made all my strategic decisions based on incomplete information."
"Seraphina, please... "
"My father died investigating the same conspiracy that's still operating. He had evidence, connections, intelligence that could have helped me understand what I'm really fighting." Her voice shook with fury. "And you kept it from me while living close enough to hear me breathe."
"I was protecting you."
"You were controlling me." The realization crystallized with painful clarity. "Just like Alaric. Making decisions about what I could handle, what I needed to know. But worse, because you were pretending to be my partner while living right next door."
"That's not... " He reached for her through the bond, trying to share his genuine care, his real motives.
She blocked him. Slammed every barrier back into place.
"Don't." Her hand came up between them. "Don't use the bond to manipulate me."
"I'm not manipulating anything. I love you."
"Love?" She laughed, the sound sharp enough to cut. "Love means trust. You don't trust me with the truth about my own father. You've been listening to me through that wall while keeping secrets that could get me killed."
"I trust you with everything."
"Except the things that matter most."
She could see him trying to find words, trying to bridge the gap that had opened between them. But the betrayal sat like poison in her chest. Tonight she'd have to listen to him moving around next door, knowing what he'd kept from her.
"Seraphina... "
Her hand cracked across his cheek.
The slap echoed through the study like a judge's gavel, final and damning.