Florian inhaled sharply, his entire body tensing at the sudden grip on his arm. His mind jolted, instincts roaring to life. The title nearly slipped from his lips—
"Your Maj—"
He barely caught himself in time, choking back the words before they could escape. His breath hitched for the briefest second, a crack in his composure, but he forced himself to recover quickly. To mask the jolt of panic crawling up his spine with a carefully constructed indifference.
A beat. Then, with a forced, casual ease, he turned his head and met those piercing red eyes.
"Anastasius! You surprised me."
The name felt strange on his tongue. Wrong. But he said it anyway, keeping his voice steady, his face blank. No hesitation. No cracks.
Leila was already watching.
Florian could feel her gaze—sharp, dissecting, unblinking. She wasn’t just looking. She was
studying.
’She’s trying to piece it together.’
And the worst part? Heinz wasn’t making it any easier.
His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm, grounding. A silent warning. His presence alone was suffocating, commanding attention without effort, and Florian felt the weight of it pressing down on him.
Leila shifted slightly, head tilting in quiet calculation. Then, in a voice too calm, too measured, she asked,
"Who is that?"
There was no fear. No wariness. Just quiet, patient curiosity.
And Florian
hated
that.
It was
too much.
She was taking things
too well.
That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t
right.
But he didn’t let the unease show. Instead, he slipped into practiced ease, offering a smooth, rehearsed answer.
"He’s a knight and an arcanior assigned to help me..." A pause. "Help you."
It wasn’t a lie.
But it wasn’t the truth either.
Leila hummed, neither accepting nor rejecting his words. But her eyes lingered—longer than Florian would’ve liked—on Heinz.
Like she was peeling back layers.
Like she was
trying
to see what wasn’t meant to be seen.
Then Heinz finally spoke, voice flat, unreadable.
"Where are you going?"
Not directed at Leila. Not once did he acknowledge her presence. His entire focus was on Florian.
Watching. Waiting.
’He’s not asking because he’s curious.’
Florian knew that much just by looking at him.
He’s asking because he
already knows something.
Something
Florian
doesn’t.
A quiet pressure coiled in his chest, but he didn’t falter. His voice came out lower this time, quieter.
"Leila asked me to go to her house so we can discuss more."
A beat of silence.
Then—Heinz sighed.
Florian barely had time to process it before he was
pulled forward.
It wasn’t harsh, but it was sudden. The shift in proximity sent a jolt of surprise through him, breath stalling as he found himself
closer.
Too close.
Much closer than he was comfortable with.
For a split second, Florian swore he felt the heat radiating from Heinz’s skin, the weight of his presence settling around him like an unshakable force.
Then Heinz spoke, voice lower, quieter.
"Don’t go anywhere without me."
It wasn’t a request.
It was an order.
The words crawled over Florian’s skin, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine.
His heart did something strange.
Something it
absolutely should not be doing.
His pulse skipped, a heat creeping up his neck, and for one, singular, frustrating moment—he was
certain
it wasn’t his reaction.
’No. No, no, no. That was the original Florian.’
Irritation flared, burning through his chest.
’Damn it, Florian!’
Why?
Why now?
He didn’t
want
to feel anything. He didn’t
want
the warmth prickling at his skin, didn’t
want
the strange twist in his stomach.
Not in fear.
Not in unease.
But in something he
refused
to name.
He hated this.
Scowling, he
ripped
his arm free, stepping back as quickly as possible. He turned on his heel, refusing to look at Heinz—refusing to give him the satisfaction of whatever expression was on his face.
"Just come with us, then," he muttered, voice sharper than intended.
And he
didn’t wait
for a response.
Leila, who had been silent through the entire exchange, studied him for a moment longer. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and walked ahead.
But Florian
felt
it.
Even as she moved forward.
Even as she pretended otherwise.
Leila didn’t turn back as she walked, but her voice cut through the still air, smooth and unhurried.
"You appeared out of nowhere," she remarked. "How?"
Florian stiffened, his body tensing at the casual yet pointed question. He shot a glance at Heinz, who remained as unreadable as ever.
’Good question.’
Now that she mentioned it, Florian realized the same thought had crossed his mind. A village like this was quiet—
too
quiet. If Heinz had been approaching, Florian should’ve at least heard the sound of footsteps, felt the shift of presence,
something.
But he didn’t.
Heinz had simply
been there.
Waiting.
Right at the exact moment Florian was about to leave with Leila.
A coincidence?
No.
Not with
him.
Heinz finally acknowledged Leila, though only briefly. His red eyes flicked toward her, unreadable as ever, before shifting back to Florian.
"I was following him," Heinz said evenly. "Since he left."
Florian turned sharply at that, eyes locking onto Heinz, searching—
praying
—for any sign that he was lying.
But there was nothing.
No hesitation. No flicker of dishonesty.
Just the same calm, infuriating composure.
A sinking feeling settled in Florian’s stomach.
’Since I left?’
His mind raced back—
He walked out on Heinz earlier.
Had a breakdown over that damn nightmare.
Crashed out,
just a little.
Snuck to check the storage unit.
Met Leila.
And through all of that—
He had never noticed.
’He was following me that entire time?’
A slow, horrifying realization crawled up Florian’s spine.
’How? How the hell did he follow me without me noticing?’
Florian was
not
careless. Even if his mind had been a mess earlier, even if exhaustion had dulled his senses, he
should
have felt something—an off presence, a flicker of awareness,
anything.
But there had been
nothing.
Not a single thing out of place.
Leila didn’t seem shocked. If anything, she just hummed lightly and kept walking, as if Heinz’s revelation was the most
normal
thing in the world.
And that—
That unsettled Florian more than anything.
Something about the both of them felt...
off.
He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the air between them—between all three of them—felt
wrong.
Maybe it was just him.
But somehow, Florian
doubted that.