The house was old. That was the first thing you noticed. Stone walls, wooden beams, windows that rattled when the wind pushed through the valley. It smelled like dust and lavender and something faintly smoky, as if a fire had been lit in the hearth and then forgotten hours ago.

Your room was at the end of the hall. Boxes stacked thigh-high, your bed frame leaning against the wall, a single window looking out over the garden. You could see the town below—small, quiet, unfamiliar. A church spire. Rooftops in shades of rust and cream. Not a single person on the streets.

Then a shadow at the bottom of the staircase, half-hidden by the wall. Dark hair, dark eyes. Arms crossed. He looked up at you, standing at the top of the stairs, and for a moment neither of you moved.

He didn't say anything. He just watched you. His gaze was flat, unreadable, and already you could feel it—a wall.