The night air in the Tower courtyard was cold, biting through Elara's cloak as she paced along the stone walkway. Caelen stood a few feet away, leaning against the railing, his gaze fixed on the dark city below. Neither spoke for a long while.
"You shouldn't be here," Elara finally said, her voice sharper than intended.
"You called me," he replied without looking at her.
"I didn't call—" She stopped. The dream. His voice had been there again, like a whisper threading through her sleep. "It was an accident," she muttered.
Caelen turned, stepping closer until the moonlight caught the faint scar across his jaw. "Fate doesn't deal in accidents, Elara."
She clenched her fists. "I don't want this fate. I don't want you."
For a moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then he straightened, the cold mask slipping back over his features. "Then learn to live without me," he said, brushing past her.
But as his footsteps faded into the dark, Elara felt the strange pull tighten inside her chest. And she hated it.