You slam the cipher shut with a dull thud. Parchment rattles. Ink smears.
Across the room, Levi tenses like a blade drawn too tight in its sheath.
"We're out of time," you bite, pacing the length of the rug with the restless energy of a storm about to break. "The nobles leave for that hunt tomorrow morning. If we wait—"
"We miss our only shot," he finishes, voice flat.
You whip toward him. "So why aren't we moving?"
Levi turns slowly from the window. The light from the hallway slants across his face, cutting it in half. Sharp jaw. Impassive eyes. But you know that look. It's not calm.
It's restraint.
"We're not ready," he says. "You've been pushing too hard. Drawing too much attention."
You laugh. It's sharp. Bitter. "I've been keeping us alive."
"You've been reckless."
"And you've been a ghost," you snap. "So quiet and careful you'll disappear before you ever get anything done."
His mouth tightens. "This isn't about getting it done. It's about getting out alive."
You take a step forward. "You think I don't know that? You think I'm trying to get us killed?"
"No," he says. "I think you're trying not to feel cornered."
That stops you.
"You're angry," he says, voice low now. "You're scared. You're trying to control it the only way you know how."
You take another step. "And what about you? You don't feel anything at all?"
He's close now. Closer than he should be. You can see the tension in his jaw, the flicker in his eyes. He says nothing.
So you press, softer this time. "Do you really not feel it, Levi?"
His breath catches.
Silence.
And then his voice drops.
"I feel everything."
—
The silence after his words is suffocating.
I feel everything.
You stare at him, throat tight, chest aching. "Then why do you keep acting like you don't?"
His eyes flash. "Because I can't afford to."
You step forward, heart hammering. "And I can?"
Levi's jaw tightens. "You act like it doesn't matter if this falls apart."
You meet his gaze, unflinching. "Maybe I'd rather it fall apart than live like a ghost inside it."
The silence coils between you again—breathless, sharp, electric.
"I see the way you look at me," you whisper. "Every glance... you strip me down. You tear through every wall I put up like you were meant to—but you still resist."
"Like you're trying not to want it."
A pause.
Then—quietly, low—
"I stopped trying two nights ago."
That's when the space between you fractures like glass.
He grabs you like the tension's finally snapped—like he can't bear another second of restraint. Your back hits the wall with a muted thud, and before you can breathe, his mouth is on yours—hard, consuming, all heat and collision. There's nothing tentative about it. It's messy, brutal, greedy.
It's Levi with no mask.
His tongue pushes past your lips, hot and demanding, and you yield—melting into it, into him, like you've been waiting your entire life to be claimed like this.
"Levi..." Your voice trembles as you gasp against his mouth.
He pulls you tighter, hand fisted in your hair as his other palm slides down to your hip, gripping you like you might vanish if he doesn't hold on hard enough.
"You've been driving me insane," he mutters, lips brushing yours. "Every look. Every time you touched me like it didn't matter. Like it didn't mean everything."
His fingers hook under your thigh, grinding you together, deeper, closer. You were already pressed against him, but he moves like even this isn't enough—like he needs to crawl under your skin to be satisfied.
"Then do something about it," you whisper.
He growls low, like an order's just been given. The kiss turns vicious, unrelenting. You claw at his shirt, pulling him toward the bed, but he only lets you take control for a second before spinning you into the mattress and covering you with his body—solid, hot, trembling with restraint.
His mouth breaks from yours just long enough to drag down your collar and sink his teeth into the tender skin of your shoulder.
You cry out—half pleasure, half surrender.
"Say it," he growls against your skin. "Say you want this."
"I want this," you breathe. "I want you."
His hand slides beneath your shirt, moving up your ribs like he's memorizing every inch. "Say you've thought about it."
"Every night," you confess, voice hitching. "Even when I tried not to."
His fingers find bare skin and he exhales, shaky. "Fuck."
He leans down, mouth ghosting the curve of your chest as he peels your shirt up, fingers tugging your bra aside. He mouths at your breast, tongue flicking, lips firm. You arch, choking on a moan.
He murmurs, wrecked, "Tell your captain you're gonna be a good girl for him."
Your head falls back. "I'm gonna act right for you, Captain," you whisper. "I'm gonna be a good girl."
That's all it takes.
Clothes come off fast—his belt undone with trembling hands, your shirt ripped halfway down, pants shoved past your knees. You rake your nails down his chest as you stare at him—scars and muscle and something dangerous barely leashed.
He drinks in the sight of you with wild hunger before stripping your last barrier away. No patience. No hesitation.
"I'm so fucking hard for you," he groans. "I'm gonna ruin you tonight."
And when he finally thrusts into you, you both gasp—his name spilling from your lips, your back arching to meet him, your body seizing around him like it's never known anything better.
He buries himself deep, groaning at the sensation. "Y/n..."
You wrap your legs around his hips, clutching his back, dragging your nails down until he shudders. "You're not careful now," you whisper.
"Too late for that."
"Then don't stop."
He doesn't.
He kisses you like he's drowning in it. Moves inside you like this is the last night of the world and you're the only thing that matters. His forehead rests against yours, eyes locked, hips snapping into you with ruthless rhythm.
"I'm yours," you gasp.
His voice breaks. "You always were."
And when the release hits—loud, messy, shattering—you both come undone with each other's names on your lips and hands clinging like lifelines.
He collapses against you, breathless, trembling, face buried in your shoulder.
—
Levi's chest rises and falls against yours, breath still ragged, muscles taut even in the aftermath. His weight grounds you. His warmth seeps into your bones.
But something else lingers.
You shift slightly—and feel it.
He's still hard.
Still inside you.
Still aching.
Your lips part. You lift your hips slowly—and he slips out with a wet sound that makes him groan, low and restrained, like he's trying not to make a sound at all.
You glance down.
And smirk.
He's harder than before.
Visibly. Completely. And utterly undone.
You slide off to the side, chest still heaving, then prop yourself up on one elbow and trail your fingers down the hard line of his abdomen. His skin twitches beneath your touch.
"Already?" you murmur, fingers grazing lower, watching his muscles tighten. "That's kind of filthy, Captain."
He closes his eyes, jaw tight. Like he's praying you'll stop—or that you won't.
You don't.
You straddle him again, slowly, deliberately. Your thighs slide around his hips, and his hands twitch at his sides like they're fighting for control. You can feel the heat of him between your legs, and gods, he's thick and twitching and helpless beneath you.
"Usually so composed," you whisper, leaning forward to brush your mouth along his jaw. "But this?"
You drag your hand up his chest, over the slope of his shoulder, and down the thick curve of his bicep. He flinches under the attention.
"These arms," you murmur. "Strong enough to throw me across the room. But right now? Can't even hold me back."
You press your thumb into the muscle, teasing it, feeling it flex for you. Then you lower your hips just slightly—grinding slowly, not to tease him with your entrance yet, but to let your slick warmth drag across the ridges of his abs.
Levi exhales sharp, his eyes snapping open.
You keep the pressure light and your rhythm cruel—rolling your hips over the line of his stomach, watching him strain not to buck up into you.
"Gods," you breathe, voice thick with heat. "Big arms, tight control, and abs I could ride all night."
You glance down at his cock—flushed, dripping with precum, so hard it pulses against his own belly.
"This is needy, Levi."
He swears, looking away like he can't bear it.
You grin. "Are you embarrassed?"
You lean forward, stroking one hand down his chest while your other wraps around him—slow, lazy, deliberate. He jolts under you, biting back a sound.
"You want me to stop?" you ask, voice sweet and poisonous.
His hand flies up and catches your wrist. Not to stop you. Just to keep you there.
"No."
Your smile deepens.
You guide him back to your entrance and hover, slick heat pressed to the tip but refusing to let him in. You roll your hips just enough for him to feel every shiver of you, every denied inch.
He groans, strained. "Please."
"Please?" you echo, pretending to pout. "Is that begging I hear?"
"You're supposed to be the disciplined one, Captain. What happened?"
His hands find your thighs, gripping hard—but he still doesn't push. Doesn't move you. Just waits.
You reward him.
You sink down on him slowly—inch by inch—until you're full, your thighs trembling from the stretch, your breath hitching from the sensation.
"F—fuck," he gasps, voice torn. "You feel..."
He can't finish.
You plant your hands on his chest and begin to move—slow, rolling, deep. You control everything. Every pulse. Every thrust. Every sound.
"Look at you," you whisper, riding him with rhythm. "Letting me take you apart like this."
He groans, his hands sliding up your waist, gripping with reverence.
"Fuck, that's it," he chokes out, "that's it, baby girl..."
The praise makes your head spin. You lean down, hips still rocking, your mouth brushing his ear.
"You like watching me use you?"
"You look so good like this," he mutters. "On top of me... fuck, I can't—"
You ride him faster now, chasing the edge, grinding against him until your breath comes in broken gasps and the world narrows to where your bodies meet.
His name leaves your lips in a moan as you break—shaking, clenching around him. He follows instantly, eyes wide and dazed, mouth parted, breath caught as he spills into you again with a ragged sound, his hands trembling against your hips.
This time, when you collapse against his chest, he wraps his arms around you without hesitation.
And this time—he doesn't let go.
Not yet.
And for a little longer, in this quiet, you let yourself believe that maybe... maybe this was real.
—
The fire's burned low. Only coals now—red and pulsing in the hearth like a second heartbeat. The journal lies closed on the desk, your copied notes beside it, the cipher tucked carefully into a folded cloth. Everything is in place. Everything feels... changed.
You stand barefoot on the stone floor, Levi's shirt hanging loose off your frame, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. He's across the room now—half in shadow, buttoning the waistband of his pants, hair still mussed from your fingers.
The silence between you isn't cold. But it's not settled, either.
You run your thumb along the edge of the journal. "We hit the landing just above the gallery. No sentries past the second stair, if the patrols stick to their usual routes."
Levi doesn't answer immediately. His gaze lingers on your legs for a breath too long before flicking to the fireplace. "Marla will pull the outer guard with the delivery cart. That buys us our opening."
You cross to him, soft footfalls against stone, and stop close enough that your arm brushes his. He doesn't move away. Just watches you. Careful.
"We follow the west hall," you murmur. "Take the servants' stairwell to the second floor. The solar should be at the end. Vaulted ceiling. Skylight. No one goes near it."
"And if it's locked?"
You look up at him, smirk ghosting your mouth. "That's what the lockpicks are for."
His eyes drop—briefly—to your lips. Then lower. Then back up.
There's a flicker of hesitation in him. Or maybe it's restraint.
You reach out, fingers grazing the fresh bruise at the base of his throat—the one you left there. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You're quiet."
He exhales. "We don't have room for distractions tomorrow."
Your hand lingers on his chest a moment longer before you draw it back. "Then it's good this wasn't a distraction."
Something flickers across his face—wary, wanting, like he doesn't quite believe you but wants to.
You walk past him, slowly, your shoulder brushing his as you go. "Second bell," you remind. "When the nobles leave for the hunt."
You pause at the door. Look back.
"If it goes sideways—"
"It won't."
"But if it does—"
"North greenhouse," he says. "You take the cipher. I take the noise."
You narrow your eyes. "Try not to play the hero."
"Try not to ignore backup."
You nod. And that's the agreement, quiet but binding.
You return to the bed and crawl in, the journal now tucked beneath the mattress, the sheets still holding the warmth of earlier. You watch him from beneath the edge of Levi's shirt, your bare legs curled under the fabric, your pulse still not fully settled.
He stands at the hearth for a moment longer before moving to extinguish the flame.
And when he lies down beside you—not touching, not speaking—you shift closer anyway. His arm brushes yours. His breath is steady. Your leg brushes his beneath the blankets.
You let it.
Neither of you say another word.
But the silence no longer feels like avoidance.
It feels like an agreement.
A promise.
The plan is in place.
Tomorrow, you go in together.
Tonight, you rest in the quiet heat of what you didn't deny.