That man is a menace.
A hot, commanding, emotionally unavailable menace wrapped in a custom-fit uniform and an attitude carved from steel.
And I, clearly lacking in self-preservation, decide to keep following him.
He doesn't stop me. Doesn't tell me to go back to the tent. Just keeps walking, the stormy night chill curling around us, while soldiers part like a wave in his presence.
They glance at me too.
Some with curiosity.
Some with suspicion.
All with that same expression: What's he doing with the Commander?
Good question. I'd like to know that myself.
He leads me through a series of darker tents, further from the main campfire. Somewhere quieter. More guarded. There's a thin veil of fog rolling in, the kind that makes the world feel like a dream stitched together by unease and anticipation.
Finally, we stop.
His private quarters, apparently.
Less silk. More steel. A sword rack gleams beside his bed. There's a heavy desk, covered in sealed letters and unfinished reports. A lantern glows dimly in the corner, painting his silhouette in amber and shadow.
He gestures toward the chair across from his desk, but I don't move.
"You know I'm not going to sit just because you pointed," I say.
He raises a brow. "Then don't."
...The hell is this weird reverse psychology kink?
He drops into his chair and begins unlatching the straps of his gauntlets, one by one. His sleeves fall back slightly, exposing strong forearms, scarred and tanned from battles I haven't seen. The flickering flame catches the edge of his jaw.
And I hate that I notice all of that before I remember that I'm technically a prisoner in a war camp.
"You wanted something?" I ask, arms folded.
"I wanted to see what you'd do," he says simply.
I blink. "That's it?"
"No," he admits, looking up. "But I've learned not to reveal all my reasons to pretty strangers."
...Wait.
Did he just..?
"What.... did you call me?"
"Stranger."
"Before that."
He doesn't smile. But his eyes crinkle just enough.
"You heard me."
Okay. Okay, no. Nope. Not falling for this. I've watched enough slow-burn fantasy drama to know this trick. This is the moment he baits me with that one barely-there compliment, then leaves me hanging in existential thirst.
Not happening.
"I'm not flattered," I say flatly.
"Good," he replies. "I wasn't trying to flatter you."
"Then what were you trying to do?"
Silence.
He studies me, eyes sharp. Quiet. Then, with a kind of calm that's somehow worse than anger, he says:
"Assess you."
...
"You... what?"
"Everyone has tells. Most people don't realize when they're bluffing. When they're lying. When they're falling apart." He tilts his head slightly. "You're harder to read. But not impossible."
He leans forward, arms resting on the desk now. And I realize too late, that we are much closer than we were a second ago.
"I've seen men who've broken. Your hands aren't shaking. Your breathing's steady. You're not trying to run. You're not afraid of me. You should be... but you're not."
"I don't scare easy," I manage to say, voice quieter than I'd like.
He nods.
"I know."
...
Why does that sound like a compliment?
Why does it make my throat go dry?
Why does it feel like he's looking through me, not just at me?
And why the hell is the air so hot in here?!
I glance away. "I should go."
"You're free to."
"I mean it."
"So do I."
...
He doesn't move. Doesn't blink. And for a second, I think he's going to stand. Maybe grab my wrist again. Maybe say something that'll ruin me emotionally for three worlds straight.
But instead—
"You can sleep here," he says, tone even.
"W-what."
"In this tent," he clarifies. "On the cot. You need rest. There's a guard outside. You're safer here than across camp where half the soldiers think you're a cursed omen."
Wow. Romance. What a vibe.
"Gee, thanks."
"You're welcome."
[SYSTEM 707: Host. Danger Level: Elevated. Fluster Meter: 79%.]
[Recommendation: Initiate Rest Protocol or Emotional Shutdown.]
"Shut up, 707," I hiss under my breath.
[SYSTEM 707: ♥ Love you too, Host.]
I sigh, shoulders slumping.
The Commander stands then, moving to the bedroll in the corner like it's nothing. Like this is normal. Like letting some potentially dangerous unknown sleep in his room is just part of his night routine.
I stand there, frozen.
And then, slowly, I move to the cot.
It creaks beneath me. His back is turned.
The silence returns.
Not the kind from the dungeon. Not empty. Not lonely.
It's... thoughtful.
Heavy.
Tense.
Laced with something I don't want to name.
[SYSTEM 707: Soulmate Recognition Progress — 41%]
[Plot Divergence: Hidden Power — FLAGGED]
[Threat Level: Increasing. Emotional Complication Detected.]