Kael avoided me.
Not in a way anyone else would notice. Orders still came through. Decisions were signed. My work moved forward without obstruction.
But he didn't look at me.
Not the way he had before.
When he passed through shared spaces, his attention stayed fixed elsewhere. Conversations that used to include him now ended just before he arrived. Messages were relayed through Eren or delayed until the last possible moment.
It was controlled.
And it irritated me more than it should have.
By midmorning, I'd convinced myself it was professional distance. Sensible, even. Whatever tension had sparked between us the day before didn't need to exist. It shouldn't have.
My body disagreed.
Every time I caught the sound of his steps or felt the subtle shift in the air that seemed to follow him, something tightened low in my stomach. Heat, unwelcome and persistent, flared at the most inconvenient moments.
It was embarrassing.
I'd worked around men my entire adult life. Authority didn't faze me. Proximity didn't make me lose focus. I wasn't new to attraction, and I wasn't naïve enough to confuse tension with meaning.
So why did this feel different?
I told myself it was the isolation. The unfamiliar environment. The lack of distraction.
Then I found myself in the storage wing, inventory list in hand, checking tags I'd already verified once.
The corridor between the storage rooms was narrow, the air cool and faintly metallic. I was halfway down the row when I felt it, that shift again. The quiet pressure that made my shoulders tense before I could explain why.
Footsteps.
I didn't turn right away. I didn't need to.
"Move," Kael said behind me.
There was nowhere to step aside. Shelving boxed us in on both sides. I moved forward, expecting him to wait.
He didn't.
He followed close enough that I felt the warmth of him at my back, my skin prickling as if my body had recognized the threat, or the invitation, before my mind had.
"You could have waited," I said, keeping my voice level.
"I don't have time," he replied.
I stopped and turned, frustration overriding caution.
"If you're in a hurry, then pass me."
I regretted it immediately.
Up close, he was… too much. The restraint in his posture only emphasized the power beneath it. Broad shoulders. Strong hands.
His gaze flicked over my face, sharp and assessing, before settling on my eyes.
He didn't move.
For a second, neither of us breathed.
The space between us felt charged, dense in a way that made my skin tighten. I could feel the heat of him without touching, his presence heavy, unavoidable, pressing in from every direction. My pulse kicked hard, sudden and traitorous, and I hated myself for the way my body reacted before my mind could intervene.
His gaze dropped, slowly this time. A deliberate look that tracked the line of my throat, the rise and fall of my chest.
I swallowed.
Up close, there was no mistaking it. He was devastatingly, unfairly attractive in a way that had nothing to do with charm. Raw strength. Control pulled tight around something dangerous underneath. The kind of man who didn't need to chase because the world adjusted around him instead.
I felt small for noticing. Weak for feeling it.
"This isn't appropriate," I said, even as my voice betrayed me.
"No," he agreed quietly.
His hand came up, stopping just beside my arm. Not touching. Close enough that my skin hummed with the absence of it. The restraint was worse than contact would have been.
My breath caught.
For one suspended moment, I was acutely aware of everything, the sound of his breathing, slower than mine, the tension coiled in his posture, the way my body leaned toward him despite every instinct screaming that it shouldn't.
His jaw clenched.
Whatever he was fighting, he was losing.
"You're avoiding me," I said, quieter now.
His eyes snapped back to mine.
"I'm maintaining distance."
"That's not what it feels like."
"What does it feel like?" he asked.
The question landed between us, too calm to be safe.
I hesitated. "Like you're punishing me for doing my job."
Something flickered in his eyes.
"This isn't about punishment," he said. "It's about boundaries."
"Then you're standing too close to be convincing."
For a heartbeat, I thought he might step back.
Instead, he leaned in just enough that I felt his breath brush my cheek when he spoke.
"You don't understand what you're standing in," he said quietly.
A shiver ran through me, immediate and unmistakable, sharp and electric.
"Then explain it," I said.
His jaw flexed hard.
He straightened abruptly and stepped back like the space itself had burned him.
"Finish your work," he said. "And stay out of restricted areas."
"And if I don't?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
His eyes locked on mine, dark and steady.
"You will."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving the corridor colder than before.
I pressed my back to the cool wall and closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe through the lingering heat.
My body felt wrong. Every nerve buzzing like it had been brushed too close to something it wanted and didn't trust.
I wasn't blushing. I wasn't flustered.
I was aroused.
That had never happened to me like this. Not without touch. Not without intention.
Especially not with a man who had made it painfully clear that whatever this was, it wasn't allowed.
Damn him.
The rest of the day passed in fragments. Numbers blurred. Conversations felt distant. I caught myself replaying the scene against my will, the closeness, the restraint, the way he'd pulled back as if staying was more dangerous than leaving.
By the time evening came, I was exhausted and wired in equal measure.
Sleep didn't come easily.
When it did, it wasn't rest.
I dreamed of warmth at my back. Of breath against my neck that made my body relax even as my mind resisted.
I woke before dawn, heart pounding, the sensation lingering on my skin like my body refused to let go of it.
I turned onto my side, my thighs pressing together as I exhaled slowly, grounding myself in the quiet of the room. This wasn't longing. It wasn't romance.
It was something sharper. Something physical and instinctive that didn't care about rules or plans or how temporary I was supposed to be.