Eloise had just set foot on the last step when a voice called out behind her.  

"Excuse me."  

The word was polite. The tone wasn't.  

She turned, slow and careful.  

Three people stood there, watching. Then another drifted over, and then one more, all of them dressed in black, eyes too bright, the sort of hungry curiosity that doesn't belong at a funeral.  

They didn't crowd her right away. They just gathered, forming a loose circle, like the path itself had decided she was staying put until they finished with her.  

A woman in a black dress looked Eloise up and down, not rushing, eyes sharp, as if she were hunting for answers in the way Eloise stood.  

"I don't recognize you," the woman said.  

"Neither do I," said a man beside her, stepping closer. His breath smelled like mint. His eyes were sharp with judgment.  

"Were you invited?"  

Eloise stayed quiet.  

The silence made them lean in, hungry for her to break.  

Someone behind the man murmured, "She was inside."  

"I saw her near the front."  

The air got tighter, thicker.  

The woman tilted her head. "Strange. I remember her friends. I remember faces. I don't remember yours."  

Still, Eloise said nothing.  

The man frowned. "Did you know his wife?"  

She left that question hanging.  

Then, softer, another voice: "You do know who he is, right?"  

Curiosity sharpened. Suspicion crept in.  

"So you're brave," someone said, almost a whisper. "Or just greedy."  

A thin smile touched the woman's lips. "Tell me you're not one of those girls who thinks a funeral's a shortcut. Rich widower. No ring. Easy climb."  

Heat rose in Eloise's chest. She forced it down, throat tightening, a metallic taste blooming on her tongue.  

A new woman stepped in, soft scarf wound at her neck, eyes anything but gentle. "Are you even from here? Because everyone here knows what happens. Women show up. Women disappear. Then we wear black all over again."  

Someone else cut in, "Stop pretending you came for respect. You came to be seen."  

Another voice: "She sat close enough to be noticed."  

That one stung. Not because it was true, but because it was loud. Grief still hung in the air, heavy and raw, and they used it like a weapon.  

"People talk," someone said.  

"Everyone talks."  

"You must've heard something."  

Eloise met the man's gaze and held it.  

He shifted, unsettled.  

Silence did that to people.  

"Then why are you here?" the woman asked.  

"To pay my respects," Eloise answered.  

"That's not what she asked," the man shot back.  

Tension rippled through the group.  

"Say it plain," said the scarf woman. "Are you a friend, or are you shopping?"  

Eloise's fingers tightened on her bag strap. Her palm felt damp, but she didn't wipe it. She wouldn't let them see even that much.  

Another woman stepped closer. "You shouldn't linger near him."  

Eloise met her eyes.  

The woman didn't flinch. "Women who linger near him don't stay long."  

A whisper: "Seventeen."  

"No. Eighteen."  

"I heard nineteen."  

"The number doesn't matter," the woman said softly. "The ending does."  

The man nodded. "Bad luck follows that man."  

"Bad luck?" someone echoed. "That's one word for it."  

A dry, humorless sound ran through them.  

"You should leave town while you still can," the man added. "Unless you've got debts. Unless you're chasing a rich widower."  

That one landed.  

Eloise's breath caught, sharp and fast, but she pulled herself steady.  

"You don't know anything about me," she said.  

"Then tell us."  

She kept her silence.  

It pressed in, heavier now.  

"You don't belong here," the woman said.  

"I know."  

Eloise stepped forward.  

They parted, just enough for her to pass, waiting for her to falter.  

She didn't.  

Gravel shifted under her heel. She stepped out onto the path. Behind her, the chapel doors looked smaller now, like the building itself had turned its back.  

"Who are you... Do I know you?"  

The voice came from behind-low, rough, careful.  

She stopped.  

The air changed.  

Conversations faded. Movements slowed. Even her interrogators pulled back a little, like something invisible had slipped into the space between heartbeats.  

She turned.  

Cassian Blackmoor stood a few feet away.  

Up close, he looked worse for wear.  

Not weak.  

Just worn down and like the thing keeping him upright had been at it too long. His suit fit perfectly, but grief had carved deep marks. His eyes were bloodshot at the edges-his jaw tight, the kind of ache that comes from too many sleepless nights.  

He watched her, steady, like he was hunting for a memory just out of reach.  

She didn't break eye contact. She didn't answer, either.  

His gaze narrowed a little.  

He studied her with this quiet intensity that felt almost physical, like the space between them had weight. His eyes drifted across her face, learning it, memorizing. It made her skin prickle. Not with fear, but with the strange, sharp feeling of being truly seen.

Behind Eloise, the woman in the scarf muttered, "Mr. Blackmoor, you don't need to."

Cassian ignored her. He lifted his chin just a touch, and the crowd loosened its grip but not out of kindness, just instinct. People always back away from something that feels dangerous.

A trace of emotion flickered across his face and vanished before anyone could name it.

Eloise unsettled him. She could see that.

Cassian's fingers twitched at his side.

Eloise kept quiet.

The world shrank to that thin line between their eyes. Her heart thudded, one hard beat, like a door slamming shut. She hated that he'd just asked something that made her feel like she didn't belong, when all she wanted was to disappear.

For a moment, the coffin flashed in her mind again. The flowers, the way someone said the widow's name like passing sentence. She'd promised herself not to get tangled in anyone else's grief. Yet here she was, stuck under the gaze of a man who wore his sorrow like fatigue, surrounded by people hungry for a story.

Eloise forced herself to relax her shoulders. Breathe. In and out, slow and steady. Just take a step, she told herself. One step and you're out. Don't give them today.

Then she felt it.

Not a sound. Not movement.

Awareness.

Her gaze drifted past Cassian's shoulder and stopped.

A man stood by the iron gate, watching her. He didn't hide or try to catch her attention. Hands in his pockets, posture easy, head tipped a little, like he already knew how this scene would play out.

His face was blank. No curiosity, no threat, nothing that explained why he watched her so intently.

Eloise didn't recognize him.

But she knew, with a cold weight sinking in her gut, that he'd been watching her long before she noticed him. And he didn't look at anyone else.

Cassian followed her gaze. His body went still not tense, just absolutely still. The kind of stillness that means you know exactly who you're seeing.

Eloise's stomach dropped.

The man at the gate met her eyes and let his mouth twitch up, just barely. Not a friendly smile. Not exactly cruel either. More like he enjoyed not being understood.

She didn't know his name, but she got the message. I see you. I can get to you.

Cassian's eyes snapped back to Eloise, sharper now, like the question he'd asked had twisted into a silent warning.

She had no idea who the man was.

But she knew, with a sudden and total certainty, he wasn't a stranger to Cassian.

And that was much, much worse.

"If you stay, they'll blame me if anything happens to you."

Cassian didn't have to raise his voice. He never did. His words hit hard anyway, the kind of weight that comes from living through moments like this, not just talking about them. The words just sat there between them, heavy and real.

Eloise looked straight at him.

Not past him. Not around him. Right at him.

"I didn't ask anyone to blame you," she said. "I'm leaving."

He didn't move aside, but he didn't block her either. He just stood there, still, watching her. It felt deliberate, like he was trying to memorize her face and didn't want to admit why.

"You think leaving fixes this?" he said. "It doesn't. Not after they've seen you with me."

Behind her, she could feel those eyes on he still watching, even if everyone pretended otherwise. The crowd acted like they'd gone back to their mourning, but she knew better. Curiosity pressed against her, sharp as a breath on the back of her neck.

"You mean them," she said.

"I mean everyone."

He glanced over her shoulder at the iron gate, just for a second, then looked back at her. It wasn't fear in his eyes.

No, it was just awareness.

Her pulse jumped once in her throat.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"That's not true."

Something shifted in his eyes. Not annoyance, more like recognition. Like she'd caught him off guard, she said something he didn't expect.

"You came alone," he said. "Most people wouldn't."

"Most people weren't invited."

"Neither were you."

She nodded. "No, I wasn't."

Silence dropped between them. Not awkward or empty, just there, filling the space, almost like the air itself wanted to listen.

He studied her face again, careful, thoughtful. Not bold or shy. Just searching, as if he was trying to figure out what he'd gotten wrong about her.

Her pulse stuttered.

"Say your name," he said.

She hesitated. Not from fear, but because saying it out loud suddenly felt like handing him something she couldn't take back.

"Eloise," she said. "Eloise Laurent."

He repeated it quietly, almost testing the sound. "Laurent."

He didn't say it like a name but more like he was rolling it around in his head, checking if it fit, tucking it away.

"What now?" she asked.

He glanced at her mouth, just a flicker, then met her eyes again. Quick, almost accidental, but it tightened something low inside her anyway.

"Now," he said, "you walk away."

"I was trying to."

"For your sake."

She raised an eyebrow. "Mine or yours?"

"Yours."

He answered too fast. That, more than anything, made her look at him harder.

A hand touched his arm gently, familiar, certain.

"Cassian."

The voice was warm, easy.

He turned. Eloise did, too.

The woman by his side looked like she was born to quiet rooms where no one ever needed to shout. Her black coat hung just right, everything about her neat and calm. Pearls at her throat. Her face was composed, kind, and paying attention.

Her hand stayed on Cassian's sleeve. Not like she owned him. Just comforting.

"Your aunt is asking for you," she said softly. "She's worried you haven't eaten."

"I'm fine."

She smiled a little. "I know. But she won't believe me unless she hears it from you."

Her eyes found Eloise. They softened right away.

"I hope they weren't troubling you," she said.

Eloise blinked. "No."

The woman kept going, gentle as ever. "They forget their manners when they're grieving. Curiosity wins out over kindness. I'm sorry if they made you uncomfortable."

Cassian spoke, quieter. "Mother-"

So, this was his mother.

The thought just settled in, no fanfare.

She smiled. "You don't have to sound so grim when you say it."

Cassian stayed silent.

She turned back to Eloise. "I'm Valarie."

No title, no last name. Just that.

"Eloise," she repeated softly after hearing it. "It's kind of you to come today. Not everyone honors someone they never knew."

Something genuine in her voice made Eloise's usual suspicion fade.

"I thought she deserved that much," Eloise said.

Valarie's smile warmed. "I agree."

For a moment, nothing about her seemed dangerous. She just looked like a mother making sure her son didn't have to go through a hard day alone.

Still, Cassian kept his eyes on Eloise.

Valarie noticed. She gave his arm a soft, distracted pat before letting go. A gesture so natural it didn't need to mean anything at all.

"Well," she murmured, "I shouldn't keep you out here in the cold."

She gave Eloise a polite nod. "It was lovely meeting you."

"You too."

Valarie's face softened just a bit more, then she turned, already offering that same gentle sympathy to someone else before she'd even gone three steps.

Eloise watched her leave.

That was his mother.

Not scary. Not harsh. Not suspicious. Just gracious.

Eloise felt her shoulders slowly relax, almost before she realized it.

"You should go," Cassian said quietly beside her.

She looked at him. "You keep telling me that."

"And you keep ignoring me."

Still, she started to back away-one step, then another.

The gravel shifted under her heel as she turned for the road. The air felt colder over here, thinner too, like she'd left a space she hadn't even realized was holding her up.

She was almost to the end of the path when someone grabbed her wrist from the side and yanked her hard into the narrow gap between the chapel wall and the hedges.

Her back hit the wall so hard it knocked the air right out of her. For a second, everything disappeared. Sound, breath, even thought. But her instincts stayed wide awake.

Adrenaline shot through her, quick as lightning. Before her mind caught up, her hands shoved at whoever had her wrist. Her pulse thundered in her ears, wild and frantic. The hedge scratched her arm, and cold stone pressed through her coat. Whoever had dragged her into the tight space between the chapel wall and the hedges wasn't letting go.

Just for a heartbeat, her body forgot where she was. Forgot the funeral. Forgot the people. Forgot pretty much everything but danger. Raw and close enough to taste.

She drove her palm into his chest. Hard.

He staggered back a step.

Eloise sucked in air, looked up, then stopped cold.

"Adam?"

Her roommate stared at her, just as shocked, and let go right away. "You're welcome."

She was still panting. "You nearly killed me."

"You're breathing," he said, deadpan. "Which is more than I can say for your self-preservation."

His eyes flicked over her shoulder, toward the chapel. "They were circling you."

"They were talking."

"They were dissecting you," he said, quieter now. "That's not the same."

She rubbed her wrist, annoyed at how her fingers still trembled. "You scared me."

Adam's face softened, but only for a moment. Then he was all sharp edges again, scanning her face like he was hunting for bruises. "Good."

She frowned. "Good?"

"Yeah. You should be scared."

"That's dramatic."

"That's true."

She rolled her eyes, but it got to her anyway. Adam didn't scare easily. He joked, exaggerated, and made everything into a scene, but this wasn't the same. His worry was quieter. Still. Like something wound tight and waiting.

"You looked at him," Adam said.

Eloise stiffened. "I gave my condolences."

"You looked at him," he said again, softer.

Her throat went tight. "Adam."

"I'm not blaming you," he said. "I'm warning you."

She let out a shaky breath. "You're reading too much into a look."

Adam cocked his head. "Am I?"

She didn't answer. Because honestly, she didn't know. And that bugged her more than anything he'd said.

Something shifted in the air.

Not a sound. Not a movement. Just presence. It ran down her spine, slow and sure, impossible to ignore.

Adam felt it too. He straightened, eyes flicking past her.

Eloise turned.

Cassian Blackmoor was walking toward them.

He didn't hurry. Didn't stalk. Just moved with that calm confidence, every step easy, shoulders loose, face composed but not blank. Somehow, space just opened for him, like even the air knew where he belonged.

He stopped a few feet away. His eyes went right to her wrist.

"Are you alright?"

His voice was steady. Not loud, not dramatic. Just real.

Cassian held her gaze for a moment, like he was weighing her answer. Then he looked at Adam. Not a challenge. Not a threat. Just recognition.

Adam nodded, quickly. "She's fine."

Cassian glanced back at her, and neither of them looked away.

The silence between them didn't feel empty. It felt like a held breath, waiting for something that hadn't decided to happen yet.

Adam cleared his throat. "We should go."

Cassian didn't move. Didn't react at all, really. But Eloise felt the moment shift. A thin, delicate thing, not broken, just quietly folded away.

She nodded. "We were just leaving."

Cassian dipped his head. "Of course."

They slipped out the gate in silence. Cold air brushed her cheeks. She told herself that's why her face felt hot.

But warmth didn't usually settle deep in her chest like that.

Later that night, she went out. Not because she wanted anyone around but because she couldn't stand being alone with his voice echoing through her head. She didn't trust herself with how much she wanted to hear it again.

The place she picked was warm and dim, the kind of restaurant where nobody asked questions if you sat alone with a drink. Conversations blurred into a soft background hum.

For a while, it helped. She managed a few steady breaths.

Then something in the room shifted.

Not a word. Not a sound. Just a heaviness.

The air thickened, heavy the way it gets before rain. Full of something you can't see yet, but know is coming.

Her fingers tightened around her glass before she even looked up. Cassian stood a few steps away. He didn't say a word, didn't try to draw attention. He was just there like he'd always been, like she was only now noticing.

Her breath caught. She hated that he could still do that to her.

He looked at her, really looked, his gaze tracing her face, pausing just a split second on the faint red mark at her wrist. Something flashed in his eyes. Not anger, not softness. Just something sharper. It vanished before she could pin it down.

"You're out," he said. Not really a question.

She swallowed. "So are you."

He nodded, quiet. "Yes."

He didn't sit. Didn't ask. He just stood close, comfortable in the space, as if the place belonged to him and the room seemed to agree.

She forced her voice steady. "I didn't expect to see you again. At least not tonight."

His eyes drifted around the room. "This is one of mine.

He said it softly, no bragging, no explanation, just the truth.

Eloise blinked. "You own this place."

"Yes."

That's when she noticed the small things: a server slowed down near him, another straightened up without knowing why. No one made a scene, but they all knew. Power didn't need to shout.

Her pulse sped up.

"Do you always check on your businesses this late?" she asked.

"When I want out of my own head."

She tightened her grip on the glass. "Is it working tonight?"

He met her eyes, steady. "No."

The word sat between them, alive and heavy.

Silence grew, but not empty, not awkward, just thick with something she couldn't name.

"I don't think meeting you was an accident, Eloise," he finally said.

Her breath slowed, chest tightening, like someone was pulling a thread inside her.

"Be careful with me. Most people listen when they're warned."

He stepped back, turned, and walked away.

She didn't move, just stared at the space where he'd stood.

Fear curled low in her stomach. But that wasn't what made her heart race.

That was something else.

Anticipation.