Under the Shadows

hi guys, sorry for the delayed posting, been suuper busy today! buut I'm back with 2 more chapters today

no smut yet—I know, but it's coming real soon, I promise hahaha, and you won't be disappointed 😇

also uploaded new chapters of When Melts The Frost, as well as another romance called Three Pulses Closer, so feel free to check

on another note, who here has seen Nosferatu? istg it was so goood, made me wanna write vampire smut lmaooo, there I said it (do I have one in the drafts? maybe)

anyways, can't wait to publish the next chapters

**

The faint tap on her shoulder roused Elyne from a surprisingly deep sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, disoriented at first, before she remembered where she was—her head resting on the edge of The Reclaimer's bed, his hand still loosely held in hers. She straightened slowly, her muscles stiff from the awkward position, and glanced at him. His face had regained some color, his breathing steady and calm. Relief washed over her, soothing a part of her that had been coiled tight all night.

A quiet cough drew her attention. Elyne turned her head to find Dr. Greaves standing behind her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and quiet amusement. He placed a finger to his lips, motioning for her to follow him. She nodded, and carefully disentangled her hand from Dante's, her movements deliberate and reverent, as though afraid to disturb him. Rising to her feet, she stretched, the tension in her back and neck protesting. She hadn't realized how deeply she'd slept until the ache set in, grounding her in the reality of the new day.

Greaves waited patiently as she adjusted, then led her out of the room and down the hall. Once they were in the kitchen, he turned to her with a small smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"Surprisingly, yes," she replied, rubbing the back of her neck. "Not bad for a fugitive."

Greaves chuckled softly, his laugh low and soothing. "It's amazing what exhaustion and a little peace can do." He tilted his head toward the counter. "Now, what's your preference for breakfast?"

Elyne hesitated, caught off guard by the normalcy of the question. "I don't know," she admitted after a beat. "But I'd like to help prepare something. For... him." The words felt strange, almost foreign, as if they belonged to someone else. She wasn't the kind of person to volunteer for kitchen duty, but the thought of doing something, anything, to ease his recovery felt right.

Greaves's eyes softened, and he nodded. "Good idea. Let's keep it simple, then. Something light but hearty."

Together, they moved about the small, cozy kitchen, their steps unhurried, their movements settling into a quiet rhythm. Greaves handed her ingredients with a quiet efficiency, and soon, the smell of freshly scrambled eggs and toasted bread filled the air.

The simplicity of the task grounded her. As she carefully sliced strawberries, she found herself drawn into the easy flow of conversation. Greaves shared stories from his med school days, tales of late-night study sessions and eccentric professors, and she countered with memories from her time in the academy, recounting drills and the camaraderie that came from shared exhaustion.

As they continued, Greaves began sharing more personal stories about his past—how he used to sneak cookies from his grandmother's kitchen as a child, or the time he'd accidentally burned an entire pot of soup trying to impress his ex-wife. Elyne responded with her own tales, equally mundane but oddly comforting in their normalcy. Like the time she and her brother had tried to bake a cake as kids, only for the oven to belch out smoke and their mother to ground them for a week.

It was strange, she thought, how something so ordinary could feel so profoundly soothing. The laughter they shared over these small, inconsequential memories felt like a balm, a brief reprieve from the chaos that loomed just beyond the walls of this quiet refuge.