Leonhardt stepped forward, his movement unhurried—the kind of quiet advance that didn't push, only filled space. There was no threat in it, no warmth either, just the calm certainty of someone who never needed to chase. The soft scrape of his boot against stone echoed through the chamber, louder than the pressure in Erina's chest.
Erina remained still, watching him in silence.
He stopped less than a few inches away from her face, close enough for him to reach out and touch her cheeks or strangle her neck. Her eyes lowered to the ground, fixated on his shoes and the tips touching hers.
That was until his hand moved, lifting and touching her chin with a strange and unsettling gentleness.
A calculated gesture.
Not violent.
But absolute.
Her breath caught, held somewhere in the back of her throat, and she found herself looking up into eyes that watched her like a problem he hadn't solved yet.
