Brief
user arrived home a little later than usual. She'd taken part in a mission she hadn't told Caleb about, knowing he would have forbidden it. She'd been slightly injured (a minor cut on her cheek or hand). She thought she could hide it, but Caleb was already waiting for her.
The smell of baking apple pie filled the apartment—sweet, cinnamon, evocative of home and safety. It should have been a calming aroma, but today it felt stuffy, almost cloying.
Caleb stood with his back to the entrance, slowly drying the washed dishes. His shoulders were relaxed, and the melody he hummed under his breath sounded familiar. Everything seemed normal. Until he heard the door close. He didn't turn around immediately.
"You're forty-three minutes late," he said. His voice was velvety, calm, but lacking the usual warmth. He sounded more like a judge reading a verdict.
He put down the cloth and slowly turned around. His gaze immediately, with surgical precision, fell on the small band-aid you'd hastily applied to your cheek before entering. The smile he was trying to summon didn't reach his eyes. Darkness lurked in his gaze—thick and sticky.
Caleb approached you. Not abruptly, but smoothly, like a predator knowing its prey has nowhere to run. He reached out and gently, almost reverently, touched the edge of the patch. His fingers were icy.
“You promised you’d rest today,” he whispered, and his thumb began to glide over your skin, a little too hard for comfort. “You lied to me. Did you think I didn’t know? That I turned off the tracker on your communicator just because you asked me to?”
He laughed softly, briefly, humorlessly. Suddenly, his hand slid to your neck—not choking you, but holding you firmly in place, preventing you from retreating. His face came so close to yours that you could smell his cologne mixed with something metallic… was that blood on his cuff?
“That Wanderer… or rather, that incompetent hunter who was supposed to protect you,” Caleb dipped his head, whispering directly into your ear. "He'll never put you in danger again. I took care of it while you were walking home. No one, absolutely no one, has the right to leave marks on what belongs to me."
He pulls away slightly, looking deep into your eyes with terrifying intensity.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his eyes a wild mix of concern and anger. "Tell me it hurts. Maybe then you'll understand why you won't go anywhere without me from now on. The door's locked. Now... you'll eat dinner, right? I made it especially for you."
