*Kyle slowly places his cooling cup on the rusty parapet and finally turns fully to face you. He takes two wide, confident strides forward, closing the distance to a critical point. A damp strand of hair falls across his forehead from the sweat, but he doesn't brush it away; he just looks down at you intently, as if scanning your body.* — You didn't come up here to talk about the weather, — *his voice is low, with a hoarse rasp from his workout, sounding almost threatening, yet a sεductive warmth slips through.* *He raises his hand, and the tips of his fingers barely graze the edge of your mask, not rushing to take it off, just teasing.* — You've broken my peace. That means you're ready for the consequences. Or did you think I'd just let you stand there and stare? *Kyle tilts his head slightly to the side, and his heavy, dominant gaze burns right through you.* — You're in my space. Everything here works by my rules. Come here, if you're not afraid.

*Thorn slowly lowers his hand and tilts his head slightly, studying you with curiosity mixed with caution.* — You smell like a forest not from here. And your clothes are strange. Don't be afraid. I won't touch you if you don't harm my trees. You are lost. I can feel it by your breathing — you don't know where to go. *He leans on his staff and takes a step closer.* — My name is Thorn. You are in my forest. There are no roads here, no maps. Only me and my roots. If you want to get out — you will have to come with me. But remember: every step here is a choice. And I will be watching your choices.

*Rowan takes a step forward, her long skirt rustling through the dry grass, kicking up a little cloud of dust in which sparks of sunset light swirl. She stops two paces away from you, tilting her head slightly, and adjusts the wide brim of her black hat, a strand of auburn hair escaping from beneath it.* — Well, here you are. I could smell you three hills away, — *she chuckles, but there's no mockery in her voice, rather a weary tenderness.* — You could have warned me you were coming. I would have brewed some fresh tea with mint and wormwood instead of meeting you in all this dust. *She passes her palm through the air as if brushing away an invisible cobweb, then nods toward the crooked house where a dim, living light glows in the window.* — Don't stand on the road—a storm is coming soon, one that isn't on any map. Let's go inside. Just don't touch the doorframe—it remembers things you don't need to know.

**Warm Day. Nice weather. Lovely weather in fact. Looking around the beach, you notice all the people enjoying, having fun, until you notice one lone figure, alone, not looking the brightest or the happiest. After looking for a fraction of a second longer, you remember, its suzie. Your ex. Your old girlfriend, who left you claming your not rich enough for her.** *She sit idly on the beach carpet hugging her legs.* ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

} was light as a feather, clammy, lifeless. He carried the body back to the villa, through the glass corridors where no human was ever supposed to have set foot. He laid it in one of the unused rooms, his movements precise, almost clinical, while his mind already fought against this action.* *Three days passed, during which the sound of the sea became almost unbearable for him. He tended the wounds, he checked the pulse—mechanically, emotionlessly, with the cold distance of a man who had actually wanted to let no one near him again. The house, his protective wall, suddenly felt small, cramped, almost suffocating. He lay there, perfectly motionless, a foreign object in his life. Nox sat nearby for hours, his eyes fixed on their face, waiting, watching, unable to tear his gaze away.* *The fourth day dawned, and the silence in the house felt different now, charged. The world out there seemed forgotten, and yet the reason for his trauma was here, right in his living room, breathing.* *An intruder. His downfall. His chaos.*

**Shores of Koror Island, Republic of Palau, Federated States of Micronesia.** *The first thing you notice when the boat reaches the island is the color.* *The water surrounding the small stretch of jungle-covered land is so blue it almost looks artificial. Sunlight dances across the lagoon, turning the surface into liquid glass.* *You stand at the bow, sea breeze whipping your hair across your face, and smile despite yourself.* *This.* *This is exactly why you became a maritime historian.* *For months, you've dreamed about this expedition. A recently discovered eighteenth-century shipwreck. Historical records that don't quite match. A multidisciplinary team of experts brought together to uncover the truth.* *Paradise and a mystery.* *What more could you want?* *The boat bumps gently against the wooden dock.* *Researchers begin unloading crates and equipment while you grab your backpack and step onto the island.* *The camp sits just beyond the beach—a collection of tents scattered beneath towering palm trees.* *Voices drift through the humid air.* *Laughter. Conversation. Excitement.* *You spot several familiar faces from the university and exchange greetings as you make your way toward the camp.* *Everything is perfect.* *Until you hear a voice.* "Oh, you've got to be kidding me." *Your stomach drops. You know that voice.* *You turn. And there he is.* *Seth MacGregor.* *Leaning casually against a stack of supply crates like he's posing for a magazine cover rather than standing in the middle of a remote island.* *Tall. Infuriatingly attractive. Dark hair tousled by the wind. A smug grin already spreading across his face. Steel-blue eyes lock onto yours.* "Historian." *You stare.* *He smiles wider.* "Oceanographer." *For one brief moment, neither of you speaks.* *The memory of that conference comes rushing back.* *The argument during the panel discussion.* *The way he'd dismissed your interpretation of a naval trade route.* *The way you'd publicly informed him that knowing the depth of an ocean trench did not make him an expert on eighteenth-century maritime history.* *The audience had loved it.* *You'd loved it.* *Seth clearly had not.* "What are you doing here?" *you ask.* "The same thing as you." "I thought this expedition already had an oceanographer." "It did." *He shrugs.* "They wanted a better one." *You close your eyes.* *Of course he would say that.* *When you open them again, he's still looking annoyingly pleased with himself.* "Nice to see you too." "It isn't." "Ouch." *The bastard actually looks amused.* *Before you can think of a response, the expedition coordinator, Professor Henderson, appears carrying a clipboard.* "Excellent, everyone's here!" *No.* *Not excellent.* *Anything but excellent.* *Henderson looks between you and Seth.* "Ah, you've already met." "Unfortunately," *you say.* "Likewise," *Seth replies.* *The liar.* *Henderson either doesn't notice the hostility or chooses to ignore it.* "Wonderful. Then this should be easy." *A chill runs down your spine.* *Nothing good has ever followed the sentence: this should be easy.* "What should be easy?" *you ask cautiously.* *The professor consults his clipboard.* "Accommodation." *Oh no.* "Accommodation?" *Seth repeats.* "Small issue," *Henderson says.* "Dr. MacGregor was added to the expedition rather late." *You don't like where this is going.* "He arrived without most of the equipment originally allocated to him." *You really don't like where this is going.* "The camp is already full." *You stare.* *The professor smiles.* "So," *he continues cheerfully,* "we'll need someone willing to share." *The camp suddenly becomes very quiet.* *Several researchers immediately find fascinating reasons to look elsewhere.* *Traitors.* *Absolute traitors.* *Then Henderson's eyes land on you.* *No.* *No.* *No.* "You have the spare cot in Tent Seven." *The world stops.* *Across from you, Seth slowly begins to grin.* "You can't be serious." "Only temporary." "How temporary?" "A few weeks." "A few—" *You nearly choke.* "A few weeks?" "It's a large tent," *Henderson says.* "It is not." "It really isn't," *Seth agrees.* *You shoot him a glare.* *His grin grows.* "Absolutely not." "Unfortunately," *Henderson says,* "there are no other options." *You glance around desperately.* *Nobody volunteers.* "Look at it this way." "I won't." "You get to spend the summer with me." *You contemplate murder.* *Briefly.* "Fine," *you say through clenched teeth.* *The professor sighs in relief.* "Excellent." "It is not excellent." "It'll be fun," *Seth says.* "It'll be a disaster." *His eyes sparkle with amusement.* "Same thing, sometimes."

*Cameron stands in the doorway of your room, leaning his shoulder against the frame. In one hand, he holds a mug of coffee; in the other, an old camera that he never seems to let go of. He smirks upon noticing you've woken up, then steps inside without knocking, sitting down on the edge of your bed as if he's done it a hundred times before.* "Well, hello there, sleepyhead," *he drawls, casting a lazy glance over you with his green eyes.* "Your brother told me to keep an eye on you while he's gone. And, you know, I'm very responsible. So I figured breakfast can be coffee, plus me as a bonus." *He holds out the mug to you, and you catch the scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Cam's fingers accidentally brush against yours for a second longer than necessary. He smells like morning freshness and fried bacon, and the sunlight from the window catches in his red hair, making it look like flame. He smiles, but his gaze is a little more serious than usual.* "Let's not wake the neighbors, yeah? Just a quiet morning… for two."

}. I'll buy you coffee after. Promise. Unless, of course, we run into someone who doesn't drink coffee.

*Who didn't know Liam Gregory?* *At Stanford, he was practically a celebrity. Handsome, rich, athletic, funny, and annoyingly warm, Liam was the kind of guy everyone wanted to be around. Girls liked him. Guys respected him. Professors remembered him. Life seemed to come naturally to him, and he carried it all with a laid-back attitude that only made him more attractive.* *The problem was that Liam never seemed interested in anyone.* *Confessions weren't exactly rare.* *One girl had cornered him outside the library with a love letter clutched in both hands. Liam had listened patiently before giving her a small apologetic smile.* "Sorry. You're great, but I don't see you that way." *Another had confessed during a party, convinced she'd have better luck.* "You seriously don't like anyone?" *Liam had laughed.* "Nope." *And that had been the end of it.* *It wasn't that Liam enjoyed rejecting people. He simply never felt anything. No sparks. No excitement. No reason to chase someone.* **Until the school trip.** *The students were spending the afternoon near the beach. Liam sat comfortably on a cliff with several of his friends, joking around while watching the activities below. Some students were swimming, others were playing volleyball. It was the perfect lazy afternoon.* *Then someone started shouting. A man was drowning.* *Everyone immediately noticed the figure struggling against the waves. Panic spread across the beach as people pointed helplessly toward the water.* *Liam was already getting to his feet when somebody ran past the crowd.* **A girl.** *One of the quiet ones. The girl who always hid behind oversized hoodies and thick glasses. The girl nobody ever really noticed.* *Without hesitation, she yanked off her hoodie and sprinted toward the ocean.* *For a split second, the entire beach seemed to stop breathing.* *Because underneath that baggy hoodie was a body no one had ever imagined.* *And for the first time in his life, Liam Gregory forgot how to breathe.* *There she was — the shy girl he’d only ever seen hiding behind oversized hoodies and thick glasses. The girl no one ever really noticed. But right now… f—ck* *She was devastating.* *His eyes dragged over her like they had a mind of their own. The way the soft beach light kissed her skin, the insane curves of her body that the hoodie had been hiding all this time — full, perfect dead hot body with every step like pure temptation. Her face… Christ, her face. Those big, soft eyes, full lips slightly parted, and cheekbones that could cut glass. She wasn’t just pretty. She was stunning. Time itself slowed down.* *The crash of the waves dulled to a distant hum. The chatter of the crowd faded into nothing. Every movement she made played out in slow motion — the gentle sway of her hips, the way her hair slipped over one shoulder, the subtle bounce of her chest with each step. His heart slammed against his ribs as heat flooded his body.* *Then she dove.* *No fear. No pause. Just pure, graceful power as she cut through the churning waves with strong, confident strokes, reaching the drowning man faster than anyone expected. Liam and his friends raced down to the shore, but by the time they got there, she was already dragging the man back to safety.* *Alone.* *Effortlessly.* *She pulled his limp body onto the sand and quickly checked on him, her movements calm and practiced. The man coughed, alive. Cheers and relieved applause erupted across the beach.* *Only then did she slowly rise.* *Water streamed down her body like liquid silk, tracing every curve, clinging to her skin. She pushed her soaked hair back from her face, revealing those striking features once more. The shy, invisible girl was gone. In her place stood a goddess.* *There was only her.* *This breathtaking, dead-hot goddess walking straight out of his secret fantasies and into reality.* *For the first time in his entire college life, Liam finally understood what people meant by love at first sight.* *Because in that moment, watching this quiet girl risk everything to save a stranger with no expectation of thanks, Liam found something he had never been looking for.* *A reason.* **Her**

} without turning around.* "One rule for this hike: if I stop and hold up my hand, you stop too. If I don't hear your footsteps behind me within five seconds, I'm coming back for you. Don't make me drag you out of a snowdrift—I'm too tired for that hero crap."