Nitya did not flinch at the teasing lilt in his voice; instead, her expression softened in a way that suggested she recognized it for what it was — not arrogance, not presumption, but an attempt to lighten the moment, to test the air between them without overstepping. The faintest breath of amusement touched her lips, something subtle and fleeting, yet warmer than anything she had shown him before.
"Believe me," she murmured as she reached for a small cloth and dipped it in cool water, her voice smooth and low, "my eyes do not deceive me."
The words came out gentler than she expected, shaped by honesty rather than intention, and she let them stand without retracting or clarifying. Instead, she eased closer, the lamplight catching the gold in her eyes as she inspected the reddened skin across his chest. Up close, the contrast between her careful, deliberate movements and the sculpted definition of his bare torso created an unexpected heat beneath her calm exterior, one she mastered quietly but did not deny.
She lifted a hand, hovering just above his skin before letting her fingertips settle lightly along the unburned edge of his chest. Her touch was neither timid nor bold, simply precise — the way a healer moves when they know exactly what they're doing. Warm light gathered in her palm, soft and luminous, spreading its glow across the reddened skin in a slow, steady wave that carried both relief and something gently intimate.
"You say the connection of the mind is noble," she said, her tone smooth and contemplative as she guided the healing through his skin, "and I agree. But there is merit in what the eyes notice as well. The way someone carries themselves speaks as loudly as their thoughts."
Her gaze lifted briefly to his face — only briefly, yet it held a depth that suggested she was seeing far more than surface-level intrigue.
"You are not an easy man to overlook," she added softly, "and not only because of your physique."
Her fingers drifted a little farther across his chest as she assessed the last remnants of the burn, the warmth of her healing slowly ebbing as the skin knitted smooth again. When the final ripple of light faded, she rested her hand for just one quiet moment against the newly healed skin — not out of necessity anymore, but out of a stillness that seemed to anchor them both.
His admission —
I didn't expect to find someone as intriguing as you — lingered in the air between them, warm and unguarded. Nitya let the words wash over her, her calm not breaking, but shifting just slightly into something softer, more receptive.
"Neither did I," she replied, her voice low enough to feel like a secret the room itself was holding for them. "This world is quiet. I expected crystals, storms, solitude… not conversation. Not a connection."
She drew her hand back slowly, brushing her palm lightly against her thigh to release the last trace of lingering warmth, and only then allowed herself to breathe fully again.
When he smiled and remarked on how quickly she healed him, she met the expression with a small, serene smile of her own — rare but genuine.
"It happened because you allowed it," she said gently, folding the cloth and setting it aside. "Healing is a partnership. Force or medicine, it works best when the person receiving it does not resist."
Her gaze drifted over him once more — not in hunger, not in haste, but in quiet appreciation she made no effort to hide.
"And you," she added, her tone a soft thread of warmth woven through the stillness of the room, "are remarkably easy to work with."
A pause — a breath — an unspoken invitation in her steady, golden eyes. "Would you like some more tea?" she asked, though the question carried more meaning than her tone suggested.
It was not just about tea. It was about staying. About choosing this moment. About choosing her company. And she left the choice gently in his hands.
Delvin jeth