Chapter 34 - The First Steps Back
That first night in Caelan’s apartment, Alena barely spoke. She followed him to the guest room like a shadow, her small overnight bag clutched to her chest. The room was warm and tidy, the scent of polished wood mingling faintly with something floral. Caelan had set out fresh bedding, a stack of extra blankets folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and on the side table, he had already lit a few lavender-scented candles. Their soft glow painted gentle, wavering shapes across the walls, the scent calming in a way that seemed to settle the air itself.
He didn’t leave her to sleep alone. Instead, he settled himself into the armchair by the window, his glaive leaning within arm’s reach, and promised he’d be right there until morning. At first, she lay still beneath the blankets, her eyes fixed on the shifting shadows above her, but every so often, her gaze would flick toward the window as though half-expecting to see smoke curling past the glass. Later, when the nightmares began — small, broken whimpers that pierced the stillness — Caelan was beside her in an instant. He sat on the edge of the bed, calling her name softly until she stirred, then brushed his hand through her hair in slow, steady strokes until her breathing calmed. He stayed long after she had settled again, watching over her with an expression caught between the weight of duty and something harder to name.
The days that followed unfolded in slow, uneven steps. Alena still woke from bad dreams now and then, but the raw panic in her eyes began to soften. On the mornings Caelan had to leave for work, he made sure she wasn’t left entirely alone. A kindly, middle-aged woman arrived each day, someone he had hired to keep the apartment in order and see to Alena’s needs. She worked quietly, keeping her presence unobtrusive, preparing meals and tidying without breaking the fragile sense of safety that Caelan had been building.
Even with company, Alena sometimes lingered near the windows when the sun began to set, her eyes scanning the street below as though wary of something unseen. She startled at sharp sounds; the clatter of dropped cookware, or the sudden slam of a closing door, her hands tightening on whatever she held. When Caelan returned home in the evenings, he noticed these things but never drew attention to them directly. Instead, he went to the kitchen to cook her dinner himself, sleeves rolled up, moving with the quiet assurance of someone who wanted her to feel cared for without forcing conversation. If he found her curled up on the couch, staring at the far wall, he would return a few moments later with a steaming cup of herbal tea and set it gently in her hands.
Sometimes, she seemed too far away in her thoughts for tea to reach her. On those evenings, Caelan would sit beside her and, in a tone that was gruff but steady, offer to read to her from one of her romance novels. He made passing comments about how ridiculous the plots were, but his voice kept an even, measured pace, and though he would never admit it aloud, he was beginning to want to know how some of them ended.
The first real turning point came one morning. Caelan was in the kitchen preparing breakfast, the faint scent of coffee and warm bread filling the air, when he heard the soft sound of a door opening. He turned and saw Alena step out of her room, her movements careful but not hesitant. She lingered at the threshold for a moment before crossing into the kitchen, her hands fidgeting lightly against her skirt. “Can I help?” she asked. He nodded, sliding a cutting board toward her, and she took up a knife to slice fruit. Just before she began, she murmured, “Good morning.” The words were quiet but steady, and for a moment, Caelan was caught off guard. Then his mouth curved into a small, genuine smile as he returned the greeting.
It was over dinner a few nights later that she finally spoke of it. She set her fork down and traced the edge of her plate with a fingertip, her eyes lowered as though steadying herself. “Thank you,” she said, her voice measured but sincere. “For taking care of me… and for not dismissing how I’ve been feeling. I know there are people who would think I’ve been overreacting, maybe even making a scene. But you gave me time and a safe place to sort myself out. That means more than I can say.”
Her gaze flicked up, meeting his briefly before drifting away again.
Caelan studied her for a long moment. He had seen fear before, in many forms. In the eyes of soldiers who had survived battles that took their friends, in the voices of mercenaries who couldn’t sleep without a weapon in reach. But Alena’s fear carried a different weight. Even now, she was worrying about how her pain might inconvenience others.
“You don’t need to worry about how it looks to anyone else,” he told her, his voice steady but softened at the edges. “I will never dismiss your feelings, no matter what anyone else might think. You went through something no one should ever face. There is no wrong way to react to that. All that matters is that you’re safe here, and that you keep moving forward.”
Something in her seemed to ease at his words. Her shoulders lowered, the tightness in her expression loosening just enough for a faint smile to reach her eyes. It was a small change, but it was real, and for Caelan, that was enough.
The following days settled into a rhythm that felt almost ordinary. Alena still kept to herself at times, but little by little, pieces of the woman Caelan had met before the fire began to reappear.
It started small. One afternoon, while Caelan was reviewing documents at his desk, he glanced up to find her in the corner of the living room, kneeling by a cluster of potted plants. She was watering them with careful attention, humming softly to herself as if she had been doing it for years. Another day, he returned from work to the scent of tea steeping, only to find her in the kitchen holding out a steaming mug for him. “For you,” she said with a faint smile. The tea was strong and slightly too sweet, but he drank it without a word.
By the end of the week, she was joining him in the city again, not for long trips, but enough to stretch her legs, breathe fresh air, and feel the pulse of life outside the apartment. Caelan stayed at her side the entire time, scanning their surroundings with the same vigilance he would on an assignment, though he kept his expression neutral so she wouldn’t notice.
One evening, as he was putting away dinner plates, he glanced toward the sofa and caught her watching something on her crystalink, a small, unguarded smile on her face. It reminded him so much of the Alena from before, the one who was hopelessly romantic, sometimes to a fault, that he almost felt relieved.
A few nights later, they were clearing the table after another simple dinner. Alena stacked plates in her hands while Caelan gathered cutlery, the rhythm between them easy now. Not quite what it had been before, but close.
Caelan dried his hands on a towel and leaned one hip against the counter. “I was thinking…” He paused, like the idea had just occurred to him, though it had been in the back of his mind all day. “Why don’t you come with me tomorrow night? Devon and I are grabbing a meal at the pub near here. One of our favourites. It’s nothing fancy, just… good food, decent music.”
Alena froze mid-step. “With you and Devon?”
“Yes,” Caelan said simply, his mouth twitching when he caught the subtle pink rising in her cheeks.
She tried to keep her tone neutral, but the corners of her lips betrayed her. “That… might be nice.”
He gave her a look, the kind that said he could read her thoughts as easily as a headline, and sighed through a small, crooked smile. “There’s no helping you,” he murmured, though his voice was warmer than his words. Watching her brighten at the mere thought told him more than she’d ever admit out loud, and a part of him was relieved. The Alena who could blush and get flustered over someone was the same Alena who had been slowly buried under shock and fear. Seeing it now felt like a step forward.
The following night, just before bed, she lingered at her doorway, fingers twisting in the hem of her sleeve. “Caelan… could I ask you a small favour?”
“Of course,” he said without looking up from the file he was reading.
She hesitated, then said, “Could you help me pick an outfit for tomorrow?”
That got his attention. He glanced up, eyebrows raising. “You do realise I probably know next to nothing about women’s fashion, right?”
“I know,” she replied, grinning now, “but you’re still going to help me.” Her eyes lit with a spark he hadn’t seen in weeks, and before he could protest, she clapped her hands once and darted into her room, shutting the door behind her.
The fashion show began a few minutes later. First came a pale pink dress with ruffled sleeves. Caelan gave it a once-over, nodded, and said, “That looks good.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s it? No constructive feedback?”
Next was a cream blouse tucked into a pleated skirt. “It works,” Caelan said, leaning back in his chair.
“Honestly, you’re terrible at this,” she muttered, vanishing into her room again.
Then came a soft blue dress that she twirled in so the skirt fanned out. “It’s fine,” he said, glancing briefly before his eyes dropped back to his paperwork.
By now, she was mock-glaring at him, more amused than annoyed. “Do you ever say anything more than that?”
And then she disappeared again. But when she returned, it was in something entirely different.
The fabric was still floral, sweet in pattern, but the cut… was not. Bare shoulders. A corseted bustier that hugged her waist and pushed her curves forward. A skirt that ended much higher on her thighs than anything she’d worn before. It made her look at once familiar and entirely new.
Caelan was staring at the same line of text on his report when she called out, “Caelan?”
He didn’t look up right away.
“Caelan,” she said again, stepping closer.
When he finally raised his eyes, the words on the page left his mind. For the briefest second, he forgot she was asking his opinion at all. His gaze swept over her in a way he didn’t intend. Quick, restrained, but enough for heat to creep along the back of his neck.
“How about this one?” she asked, tilting her head. “Do you think Devon would like it?”
His answer came too fast. “No.”
She blinked, startled.
“Definitely not that one. Wear the blue one. The one with the sleeves,” he said, trying to make it sound like a simple decision, but his voice had dropped half a note lower than usual.
Alena’s brows drew together in faint confusion, but she didn’t press. “Alright. Blue it is, then.” She gave a small shrug and turned back toward her room, humming to herself.
Caelan exhaled slowly when she was gone, leaning back in his chair. His gaze lingered on the doorway for a moment longer before he let out a soft laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “What am I even doing,” he murmured, forcing his attention back to the reports, though the image of her in that dress kept intruding, no matter how many times he read the same line.