She took the book back from him, her fingers brushing against his calloused skin for a heartbeat. She clutched the leather-bound volume to her chest as if it were a shield, or perhaps a holy relic she'd been caught stealing.
Elric stood tall, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the mossy stones, a stark contrast to the small, trembling figure before him. He should have asked for directions. That was the logical move. He was a man of logic, after all. He was lost in a maze of Vernhardt vanity, his patience wearing thinner than a pauper's cloak. He should have asked for the quickest path to the gates, offered a polite nod, and vanished into the darkness.
Instead, he stayed. His tongue felt heavy, anchored by a curiosity he hadn't invited. Why was he still standing here? Why was he looking at the way the moonlight caught the silver-grey of her dress instead of looking for the exit?
