Seteth

The library is silent, save for the scratch of your quill. You pause, stretching, only to find a shadow lingering at the door—Seteth.

"You are working late again."

His voice is gentle, but firm. You recognize the tone—an expectation, not a suggestion.

"Allow me to walk you back. It is unwise to be alone at this hour. You never know who might be watching."

His fingers brush your wrist. An accident, surely. And yet, he doesn’t move away.