(Aurelia's POV)
The first pale light of dawn crept through the gaps in the rotting wooden walls, falling across my face in thin strips.
Caelan flicked his lighter open. The small flame pushed back the dark.
He reached sideways without looking and grabbed a shirt from his pack, then tossed it at me.
I caught it.
He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He knew exactly what shape I was in - rope burns, dried blood, the same torn clothes I'd been wearing for two days. He'd known since the moment I walked through that door.
What he hadn't planned for was any of this.
I could feel it in the way he held himself. Careful. Controlled. Like a man who'd spent the whole night managing something he hadn't expected to feel.
I looked straight at him.
"Do you actually not want me?" I asked. "Be honest."
He gave a short, cold laugh.
"I don't touch dirty things."
I heard him. Every word of it.
I tilted my head slightly. "What if I'm clean?"
He blinked.
Just once. Just for a fraction of a second - but it was there. The lighter in his hand burned down until the metal got hot, and he startled slightly, snapping it shut.
"Depends on my mood," he said, and looked away.
I didn't hesitate. I changed right there in front of him, pulling the shirt over my head, shaking out my hair.
When I looked back at him, he was watching me with that flat, measuring gaze - a cigarette between his fingers now, smoke curling toward the ceiling.
"Name," he said.
"Aurelia. Aurelia Wilde."
I straightened my spine and tried to look older. He was clearly someone - the accent, the gear, the way he moved. Not a rogue. Not anyone ordinary.
"Age."
"Almost twenty," I said.
He looked at me for exactly one second.
Then he crushed out the cigarette, stood up, and walked toward the door.
My stomach dropped.
I moved before I thought about it - crossed the room in three steps and threw my arms around him from behind, locking my hands together at his waist.
He lurched forward half a step.
I felt him go rigid the moment I pressed against his back. Something in the air shifted - sharp and immediate - and I heard the breath he pulled in, slow and deliberate, like he was forcing himself to stay still.
"Let go," he said. Low. Controlled.
I shook my head against his back.
I was holding on harder than I meant to. Chloe's strength leaked through before I could pull it back - just a thread of it, but enough that he couldn't simply peel my hands away.
We stayed like that for a long moment.
"Get in the car," he finally said.