She pushes herself up from the chair, instinctively heading toward the bathroom-her only retreat in this apartment.


    But before she reaches the door, his voice stops her.


    “And I can also tell when you’re telling the truth,” he continues. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”


    The words hit differently. Genuine. Unfiltered.


    She turns back to him, searching his face, looking for any trace of deception-but there is none. He looks sincere. Like he actually believes her.


    The first person ever to do so.


    Her throat tightens, but she manages a quiet, “Thank you.”


    Niks gives a small nod in response, then without another word, disappears into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.


    Saphira spends the rest of the day engrossed in the books she found, flipping through pages filled with supernaturalws and traditions. One particr book dives deep into the different rules governing their world, detailing the structure that has kept supernatural society in bnce for centuries.


    It even mentions the Matchmaker-but not as it exists now. Instead, it describes the way it was originally intended-a system designed to ensure beings were paired with their own kind, strengthening bloodlines and maintaining order.


    The thought lingers.


    This ce was built for people who know exactly what they are, she muses. Yet she remains here, stuck in its confines, uncertain where she fits.


    A lone puzzle piece in a world that demands definition.


    And still, she has none.


    Evening has crept in faster than Saphira expected, the hours slipping away unnoticed as she buried herself in the pages of various books. With a quiet sigh, she tucks them away and makes her way into the kitchen, setting her mind on preparing dinner-for both of them.


    She hopes Niks will eat out here like he did this morning, though there’s no guarantee. The tension between them still lingers, a silent weight that hasn’t quite lifted.


    Scanning the avable ingredients, she settles on something simple-steak and chips. Hard to go wrong with that.


    She moves efficiently, grabbing what she needs and getting to work. The familiar rhythm of cooking soothes her, the sizzling of the steak and the scent of golden fries filling the kitchen. It doesn’t take long before everything is ted, finished off with a small ssh of whiskey she found tucked away in the cupboard.


    Now, the real challenge-getting Niks toe and eat.


    The morning had been a rare moment of civility, but it was still awkward. And despite everything, she can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t fully trust her.


    She exhales slowly, ncing toward his closed door. Well, here goes nothing.


    As Saphira turns to set the tes down, the sudden presence of Niks startles her. He’s standing right there, watching her, and the shock sends the tes slipping from her fingers.


    No, no, no- She reacts too slowly, her reflexes failing her. Instinctively, she squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable crash of shattering porcin-


    but it neveres.


    “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Niks says, his voice softer than she expected.


    She hesitates before opening her eyes, and when she does, she nearly forgets to breathe. He’s standing in front of her,pletelyposed, holding both tes without a single drop of food spilled.


    Her gaze flickers downward, scanning the floor as if expecting proof that something had gone wrong–but there’s nothing.


    “How-” she starts but stops herself, shaking her head slightly. How did he move that fast?


    “That’s okay,” she says instead, regaining herposure. “I didn’t hear youe in, and um-thank you.” She gestures toward the tes, still baffled.


    “No problem.”


    Niks sets them down on the table with ease, as if what just happened waspletely ordinary.


    Saphira grabs their drinks and takes her seat across from him, the silence stretching between them. She wants to ask him something-anything. There’s so much she doesn’t know.


    But she doesn’t know his limits. And she’s not sure she wants to test them.


    Niks’s voice cuts through the lingering silence. “Your eyes.”


    Saphira exhales, relieved he’s the one to speak first-though it isn’t the conversation she expected.


    “I’m sorry?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.


    “You have gold eyes. It’s an unusual colour,” he borates, watching her with quiet curiosity.


    “You have gold eyes too,” she points out.


    “I do,” Niks acknowledges. “But that’s because of who I am. Why do you have gold eyes?”


    She hesitates for a fraction of a second before answering. “I was born with them,” she says simply, setting her knife and fork down. “I’ve always assumed they came from my birth mother.”


    Niks doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, he stands, gathering their tes and moving toward the sink. He waits until she’s finished eating before speaking again-a small courtesy she hadn’t expected.


    “Wolves don’t have gold eyes.”


    Saphira lets out a quiet breath, standing and making her way toward the sofa. “Well, I gathered that when I didn’t turn,” she says lightly, though the truth beneath it weighs heavier. She curls her knees up to her chest, settling into the cushions.


    She can’t tell if Niks is trying to get to know her-or if he’s assessing whether she’s a threat.


    Maybe just maybe-he can help her figure out who she really is.


    If he lets her live.


    “If you’re not a wolf, what are you?” Niks’s question hangs in the air as he moves toward the sofa, settling beside her.


    Saphira tenses instinctively, leaning forward, keeping her focus on the flickering fire. I don’t know how to act around him. The distance between them is close-too close. She forces herself to stare ahead, resisting the urge to let her gaze wander toward him.


    “Like I said before, I have no idea,” she replies, voice quieter than she intends. “I wish I knew.”


    A moment passes, and curiosity gets the better of her. She sneaks a nce over her shoulder, but Niks isn’t looking at her. She quickly redirects her gaze forward again.


    “Well, are your parents both wolves?” he presses.


    “My father is,” she answers. “Not a clue about my mother.”


    Niks exhales sharply, as if frustrated by her response. “Come on,” he says, his tone carrying an edge she hadn’t heard before. “Wolves don’t have kids when they aren’t mated. You must know.”


    Saphira stiffens. Is he seriously getting annoyed that she doesn’t have the answers?


    Because if she did-she wouldn’t still be searching.


    Saphira’s voice is sharp, unyielding. “Well, obviously mine did, and I paid a high enough price for it.”


    She feels Niks shift beside her, but she keeps her gaze fixed ahead, refusing to acknowledge the movement.


    “So, no one would miss you if you died?”


    The question hangs in the air, casual yet unsettling-spoken as if it’s perfectly normal to ask.