Ragnar glanced back at Circe, but she quickly averted her gaze, pretending as though their almost-kiss had never happened.
She was still seated on the grass, her posture composed yet distant, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the fading horizon. The rays from the waning sunset painted her profile in gold, a soft light that did little to hide the tension that now rested on her shoulders.
Her face was calm, and her expression had turned unreadable.
She turned back to refocus on the distant horizon, as if the shout that had shattered their intimate moment had erased it completely from existence.
It was a feeling he couldn't ignore, the desperate urge to know what she was thinking. Did she regret what almost happened between them? Did she wish it had never happened?
He could barely glean anything from her closed-off expression.
