The room was clean.
That was the first thing I noticed, and for some reason, it unsettled me more than if it hadn't been.
The bed was neatly made, the blanket folded with military precision. The small wooden desk stood by the window, empty except for a lamp and a single folded sheet of paper placed exactly in the center, like someone had measured the distance from every edge.
No dust. No personal items. No signs of life.
Temporary.
That was the word that came to mind. Not welcoming. Not home. Temporary, like a place designed for people who weren't meant to stay long.
"Well," I muttered to myself as I set my bag down, "this is either very organized or deeply hostile to personality."
The silence didn't answer.
It pressed in instead – thick, watchful. Not loud, not threatening. Just present. I was suddenly aware of my own breathing, the soft rustle of my clothes when I moved, the quiet creak of the floor beneath my boots.
I crossed the room and looked out the window.
The eastern housing sat closer to the forest than the rest of the settlement. The trees rose high and dense, branches overlapping like they were deliberately blocking out the sky. Somewhere deeper inside, shadows shifted with the breeze, though the air itself felt strangely still.
I had the uncomfortable sense of being placed very deliberately.
Right where someone wanted me.
"That's fine," I whispered. "I've always enjoyed not knowing the rules of the game."
I unpacked slowly, laying my clothes out with unnecessary care. Folding. Refolding. Anything to keep my hands busy and my thoughts from spiraling. My gaze kept drifting back to the paper on the desk.
I picked it up.
Meals are served at the main house.
Do not enter restricted areas.
If you need assistance, ask.
No name. No signature. No welcome.
"Friendly bunch," I murmured.
I was debating whether hunger or stubborn pride would win when a knock sounded at the door.
I froze.
The knock came again – firm, calm, patient.
I opened the door a crack.
A woman stood there, older than me by at least twenty years, her posture straight and composed. Dark hair streaked with silver was pulled back neatly, and her eyes – sharp, observant, flicked over me in a single, assessing glance.
"You must be Mara," she said.
Something in her tone suggested this was not a question.
"I must be," I replied.
A small smile touched her lips, like she appreciated the answer. "I'm Elara. Come. You should eat."
Not if you want.
You should.
I grabbed my jacket and followed her without arguing. Sarcasm, for once, failed to show up on time.
The main house was warmer than the rest of the settlement. Softer. It smelled like real food – bread and something slow-cooked and filling. My stomach responded immediately, loud enough to betray me.
Elara noticed.
Her smile widened just a fraction.
At the long wooden table sat a man who could only be Kael's father. He had the same height, the same solid presence, but where Kael was sharp and coiled, this man felt grounded. Like a mountain that had decided not to move.
He stood when we entered.
"Mara," he said calmly. "I'm Toren."
No title. Just my name.
"Nice to meet you," I said automatically. Then paused. "I think."
A quiet huff of amusement escaped him.
"You'll find things take time here," Toren said as we sat. "We don't rush people."
People.
The word lodged somewhere behind my ribs.
Elara set a plate in front of me without asking what I wanted. I didn't object. The food looked simple but carefully prepared, and after one bite, I nearly sighed.
"Okay," I said. "I officially take back any negative thoughts I may have had earlier."
Elara lifted a brow. "Earlier?"
"They were brief," I said politely. "And deeply unfair."
She laughed softly, like she knew exactly what those thoughts had been.
Conversation flowed easily after that. Too easily.
They asked about my work, my city, the drive. They didn't pry. Didn't push. Didn't make me feel like I was being examined under a microscope.
Which, frankly, made me suspicious.
I kept waiting for the catch.
Kael didn't join us.
I told myself I didn't care.
I also told myself I hadn't noticed the empty chair at the head of the table, or the brief glance Toren sent in that direction before returning his attention to me.
When dinner ended, Elara touched my arm lightly.
"If you need anything," she said, voice steady and warm, "you come to us."
It was said simply. Honestly.
Something tightened in my chest before I could stop it.
"Thank you," I replied, meaning it far more than I wanted to admit.
Back in my room, the silence felt different.
Still present. Still heavy. But less hostile. Like something had shifted, just enough to let me breathe.
I sat on the edge of the bed and let the day catch up with me.
The forest. The rules. Kael's eyes. The way he'd looked at me like I was a problem and something far worse than that.
"Get over yourself," I muttered. "You're here to work, not star in whatever this is."
Sleep didn't come easily.
When it did, it dragged me into restless dreams, heat and shadow, something pacing just out of sight. Eyes watching from the dark. Not hungry. Not cruel.
Protective.
I woke before dawn, heart racing, the echo of it still clinging to my skin.
Outside, the forest was silent.
I wrapped my arms around myself and stared out the window, exhaling slowly.
Whatever this place was
Whatever these people were
I had the distinct feeling that leaving wouldn't be as simple as arriving.