Erian closed the distance between them until only a step remained. The faint, clean scent of soapberry lingered about him—a trace of the laundry he had washed earlier that morning.
"I'll go with you."
Caelith shook her head. "They specifically said I must come alone."
Erian's hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles bleaching white beneath the skin. He stood before her like a mountain—silent, imposing, and immovable—yet she could see what others would miss. The mountain was trembling.
"You going alone..." he said, his voice dropping to a low, rough murmur. "I don't like that."
Caelith looked into his eyes, finding them clouded with worry and restlessness. Beneath it lay something else she couldn't quite name. It resembled fear, though not entirely. In all the months she had known him, this was the first time she had ever seen such naked emotion on his face.
