Freya woke early, though she had not intended to.
The sound reached her first.
It was steady, distant, and impossible to ignore once she noticed it.
She lay still for a moment, listening to it, before finally sitting up.
The movement pulled slightly at her ribs, but she ignored it.
The sound was stronger now.
Soren was already awake.
He stood near the window, fully dressed, his posture relaxed in a way that never quite meant relaxed.
"Are we going?" she asked.
Soren turned then, his gaze settling on her.
"You're impatient."
"I'm curious," she corrected.
That word lingered in the space between them.
Soren studied her for a moment, then nodded once.
***
The Shore —
The air changed the moment they stepped outside.
It was sharper, cooler, carrying something unfamiliar and alive.
Freya slowed as they approached the shoreline, her steps unconsciously adjusting to the rhythm of the sound ahead.
Then the ocean came into view.
It stretched endlessly, moving in a constant rise and fall that made everything else feel still by comparison.
Freya stopped.
For just a second.
Then she kept walking.
Soren followed behind her, his pace unhurried, his attention fixed entirely on her rather than the water.
Freya didn't notice at first.
She was too focused on the way the sand shifted beneath her boots, too focused on the sound, the movement, the pull of something she had never experienced before.
Then, without thinking, she bent down.
She pulled off her shoes.
Soren's gaze sharpened instantly.
Freya didn't look at him. She stepped forward, barefoot now, her feet sinking into the sand as if she needed to feel it properly to believe it was real.
The water rushed forward, brushing over her toes.
Cold.
She inhaled sharply—
then laughed.
It slipped out of her without restraint, bright and unguarded in a way she never allowed herself to be.
And Soren—
went still.
Because he had seen this before.
Not the ocean.
Not the sand.
But her.
The first time he had seen her like this, she had taken off her shoes just as easily.
Just as carelessly.
Then she had stepped onto a balcony and jumped as if distance meant nothing to her at all.
Freedom had always looked like this on her.
Unthinking.
Uncontained.
Freya stepped further into the water, letting the waves wash over her feet again, her expression softer now, her attention completely taken.
"You're going to regret that," Soren said quietly.
She glanced back at him, her hair shifting slightly in the wind.
"Regret what?"
"The part where you forget where you are," he replied.
Freya frowned faintly.
"I'm not forgetting anything."
Soren stepped closer, the distance between them closing slowly.
"No," he said, his voice lower now.
"You're just not paying attention to it."
Freya turned back toward the water, dismissing him.
But she didn't step away.
Another wave rushed in, higher this time, soaking the hem of her dress.
She didn't move.
"You're going to ruin your clothes," Soren added.
Freya glanced at him again, something lighter in her expression now.
"Then don't stand so close," she said.
That earned the faintest shift in his expression.
More interested.
"I'm not the one walking into the ocean," he replied.
Freya tilted her head slightly.
"Maybe you should try it."
Soren's gaze lingered on her, slow and deliberate.
"I prefer watching."
That made her pause.
"Watching what?" she asked.
Soren's eyes didn't leave her.
"You," he said.
The word landed heavier than it should have.
Freya turned back toward the water quickly, but not before the faint warmth in her expression gave her away.
Soren stepped closer again, stopping just behind her now.
Close enough that she could feel him without being touched.
"You do this," he murmured.
Freya didn't turn.
"Do what?"
"Forget yourself," he said.
A pause.
"Only when something actually interests you."
Freya exhaled softly, the sound nearly lost to the wind.
"Maybe I'm just not as easily impressed as you think."
Soren's gaze lowered briefly to her bare feet in the water, then back up again.
"No," he said quietly.
"You're just very easy to read when you are."
Freya didn't respond.
But she didn't move away either.
Another wave rushed in, colder this time.
Freya stepped back slightly, her balance shifting.
Soren's hand moved instinctively.
Just steadying.
Freya stilled at the contact.
For a moment—
neither of them moved.
Then she pulled away first.
"…It's cold," she said.
"I noticed," Soren replied.
Freya glanced at him again.
Then down at the water.
Then back at him.
Something in her expression shifted.
Lighter.
More deliberate.
Before he could read it fully—
she bent slightly, scooping water with her hand—
and splashed it toward him.
It wasn't much.
Soren stilled.
Freya straightened quickly, trying—and failing—not to look pleased with herself.
"…You were standing too close," she said.
A pause.
Soren looked down briefly at the water on his sleeve.
Then back at her.
Slowly.
"…Careful," he said.
Freya tilted her head slightly.
"…Or what?"
The faintest shift crossed his expression.
Not annoyance.
More interested.
He stepped forward.
Closing the distance between them again.
"…Or you'll end up with more than you asked for," he said quietly.
Freya didn't step back.
But her breath slowed just slightly.
"…That sounds like a threat," she said.
Soren's gaze didn't leave hers.
"…No," he replied.
A pause.
"…That's a warning."
Freya held his gaze for a second longer—
then turned away first.
Back toward the ocean.
But this time—
Freya tilted her head slightly, watching him as if considering something she probably shouldn't.
Then she bent again.
This time, she scooped up more water.
And threw it at him properly.
Soren didn't move fast enough—or didn't bother to.
The water hit cleanly across his front.
Freya froze for half a second.
Then—
she smiled.
Small.
Satisfied.
"…That one was intentional," she said.
Something shifted in his expression.
"…You're persistent," he said.
Freya lifted her chin slightly.
"…You're dry," she replied.
That did it.
Soren stepped forward into the water.
Just walking straight into the shallows until he was close enough that Freya had to look up at him properly.
"…You shouldn't have done that," he said.
Freya blinked.
"…Why?"
Soren didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he lifted his hand—and without warning—splashed her back.
Harder.
Cold water hit her full in the front, soaking her hair, her face, her clothes in an instant.
Freya gasped sharply, stumbling back a step.
"…Hey—!"
But Soren wasn't finished.
He reached again, sending another wave of water her way, deliberate this time, precise enough that she had no chance of avoiding it.
Within seconds—
Freya was completely drenched.
Her hair clung to her face and neck.
Her sleeves stuck to her arms.
Water dripped steadily from the hem of her dress as she stood there, stunned.
Soren looked at her for a long moment.
Then—
he laughed.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't mocking.
It was real.
Freya stared at him, blinking water from her lashes.
"…You're laughing."
"I am," he said.
She narrowed her eyes.
"…You're enjoying this."
Soren glanced over her again—slowly taking in the fact that she looked thoroughly defeated by a very simple exchange of water.
Wet hair. Droplets still running down her cheeks. Completely disarmed by the ocean and him at the same time.
"…You look like a wet cat," he said calmly.
Freya froze.
"…Excuse me?"
That only made his expression shift again—something faintly entertained, dangerously pleased.
"I said what I said," he replied.
Freya splashed at him again out of pure instinct.
But it was weaker this time.
Less composed.
More offended.
Soren caught her wrist mid-motion without effort.
Just enough to stop her.
"…Careful," he murmured again.
But now there was something lighter in it.
Almost teasing.
"…You're losing."
Freya glared at him through wet hair.
"…I wasn't aware this was a competition."
Soren released her wrist slowly.
"…Everything is," he said.
Freya exhaled sharply, wiping water from her face.
But she didn't move away.
And Soren—
didn't either.
They stood there for a moment longer in the shallow surf.
Water shifting around them.
Wind pulling at her soaked clothes.
His gaze still on her like he was memorizing the version of her that didn't think before she acted.
Freya exhaled sharply, wiping water from her face.
But she didn't move away.
And Soren didn't either.
The wind shifted slightly, colder now that she was soaked through.
Freya shivered once, subtle but real, pushing damp hair back from her face.
Soren's gaze flicked over her briefly.
Not lingering where it shouldn't.
But noticing everything anyway.
The way the water clung to her.
The way the light caught the fabric differently now that it was no longer dry and structured, but loose, softened by the sea and movement.
Something in his expression shifted.
A pause stretched between them.
Long enough for it to become noticeable.
"…You're going to catch cold," he said at last.
Freya paused, her expression softening for a fraction of a second before she masked it again.
Soren looked away first this time—not from discomfort, but restraint.
A deliberate choice.
"…We should go back," he said.
Freya glanced toward the shore, then back at him.
The ocean still called behind her.
But she didn't argue.
"…Fine," she said quietly.
Then, after a beat:
"…But I won."
Soren's eyes flicked back to her.
"…Did you?"
Freya lifted her chin slightly.
"…Obviously."
That made the corner of his mouth twitch again.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
"…Delusional," he murmured.
Freya started walking first this time.
Through the shallow water.
Back toward land.
And Soren followed behind her—
still watching.
Still holding something back.
Not because he didn't feel it.
But because he did.
***
The walk back was quieter, the sea still roaring behind them, but the silence between them was different. Weighted. Freya kept her arms crossed over her chest, not from cold alone, but from the unsettling awareness of how transparent her soaked clothes were against her skin.
She could feel Soren's presence behind her, not close enough to touch, but close enough to notice everything.
Once inside the inn, they headed to there room and shut the door behind them, with a soft click.
The warmth hit her immediately, making her realize just how cold she truly was.
Water dripped from the hem of her dress, forming a small, dark puddle on the stone floor. Soren moved silently to stand beside her, not too close, but close enough that the heat from the fire seemed to radiate between them. His own clothes were damp, dark patches spreading across his shirt and sleeves, but he seemed entirely unaffected by the cold, his posture as controlled and steady as ever.
"You're shivering," Soren observed,
his voice a low murmur that was almost lost in the fire's crackle. He wasn't looking at the flames, but at her. Specifically, at the way the wet fabric of her dress clung to her arms and shoulders, the translucent material revealing more than she would ever willingly allow.
"We can't have you catching a fever. That would be an inconvenient complication."
He took a step closer, the heat from the hearth intensifying between them.
"You need to get out of those clothes."
Freya stiffened, her arms tightening across her chest.
"I'm perfectly capable of managing that on my own," she retorted,
her voice sharper than she intended. She tried to turn away, to put more space between them, but the solid warmth of the hearth was at her back, and he was in front. There was nowhere to go.
A slow smile touched Soren's lips, a genuine, unguarded expression that was more disarming than any command.
"I have no doubt," he said,
his gaze dropping deliberately to where the wet dress molded against her form before rising back to her eyes.
"But I must admit, I find myself… invested in the outcome. I'd hate for your efforts to be hindered by a lingering chill."
The words were a challenge, a flirtation wrapped in the veneer of practicality, and they hung in the warm, smoky air between them, impossible to ignore.