Cool air drifted in from the garden-facing window, carrying the faint smell of night-bloomed flowers. The breeze tugged gently at the curtains — and at my eyelids. My belly was full from dinner, my limbs heavy from the day's therapy session.
Everything in my body was negotiating for sleep.
The clock struck twelve.
I was just closing my eyes when the knock came.
Sharp. Deliberate.
I sat up slowly. "Who's there?"
Silence. Then — another knock.
I rose, fingers curling around the neck of the vase on the nightstand. Not a weapon I'd advertise, but it would do. I crossed the room, turned the handle, and swung the door open.
The corridor lay empty. Moonlight stretched across the floor in pale strips. Not a sound. Not a soul.
I stepped out. "Whoever you are — come out quietly. Or you won't like what happens next."
The knock came again.
Behind me.
I turned. The door I had walked through was closed.
The cold moved down my spine before my brain caught up. I swallowed, shifted my grip on the vase, and turned back toward my room. Slow. Deliberate. I pushed the door open.
On the floor, in the center of the room, sat a bottle of wine. Two glasses flanked it, each filled with something dark red and viscous, catching the moonlight like something that had no business being in a wine glass.
I crouched down. Leaned in carefully, without touching anything. Brought my nose close to the nearest glass —
"Boo."
My legs dissolved. I went straight back onto the bed with an undignified thud, the vase rolling somewhere I didn't care about, my heart slamming against my chest.
Maren's laughter broke open from the corner — uncontrollable, breathless, the kind that bends a person in half. She was gripping the wardrobe for support.
"Your face," she managed, between gasps. "Oh — your face —"
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for my heartbeat to find its way back to normal.
"It's not very funny," I said.
She laughed harder.
It looked like she had a different kind of intention coming here. Information, most likely — she didn't know the real reason I am here. Then blackmail, probably. But how?
Nolan settled himself against the wall, Maren sat on the other side of the bed. She uncorked the wine bottle and poured into both glasses. The dark viscous liquid already sitting in each glass swirled and dissolved into the wine.
"It enhances the flavour," Maren said.
"You're quite athletic," Nolan said, picking up one of the glasses. "Carrying all this and climbing in through the window. Every day I learn something new about you."
Maren picked up her glass, gave it a slow swirl, and said in a low voice, "Tonight you'll find out many more things."
"Is that so," Nolan said, and took a sip.
[YOU HAVE INGESTED APHRODISIAC.]
The system message confirmed what he had already suspected. She was here for something. He waited, watching himself for any change — but nothing came. The system was neutralising it quietly. What he hadn't anticipated was that Maren had taken it too. That detail confused him more than anything else she'd done tonight.
They talked through the entire bottle. Even without the aphrodisiac working on him, the wine was doing its own work. Maren grew looser and warmer with every glass, her careful edges softening one by one.
She shifted closer until their shoulders were pressed together. She didn't look at him.
"You're not affected at all," she said, studying him from beneath heavy lids. Her voice had gone loose at the edges. "Why aren't you affected?"
"High tolerance," he said.
She laughed and dropped her head against his shoulder as if she'd been planning it all evening. She reached up and let her hair loose. It spilled across his arm. Nolan didn't pull away.
"Nolan." His name sounded different from this close.
She lifted her face. Her eyes, usually so composed, had gone warm and unguarded. The aphrodisiac was doing what she had intended it to do — dismantling the restraint she had already decided she didn't want. Nolan understood it now. Not manipulation. Permission she was giving herself.
He found that oddly genuine.
"Tell me something true," she said.
He turned the wine glass slowly in his fingers. "Is that why you came here? To find out the real reason I'm around?"
She went still.
"You climbed through my window carrying wine," he said. "You're not exactly subtle."
"I never said I was subtle." She reached up and traced the line of his jaw with two fingers. "I said you'd find out many things about me tonight."
He caught her wrist. Then pulled her into his arms and held her there.
"You could have knocked," he said quietly, bringing his face close to hers. "If you'd asked nicely, who knows — I might have told you everything."
She cradled his face between both palms and pressed her lips to his. "Is this nice enough?" she said softly.
The tray and its empty glasses sat forgotten at the foot of the bed. The only light in the room came through the window — pale and still, moonlight lying across the floor in long quiet shapes.
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She went still beneath his hand. His mouth found hers — light at first. Then her hands found his collar and pulled him closer. He could taste the wine on her lips. He let himself go deeper.
He laid her back against the pillows. She went willingly, pulling him down with her — then in one fluid motion she shifted, pressed him back beneath her, both palms flat against his chest.