The trees towered above us like silent witnesses, branches clawing at the moonlight as we moved deeper into the forest. The air was damp, thick with the scent of earth and rain, and every step I took felt heavier than the last.

He hadn’t let go of my hand.

Not once.

I tugged gently, then harder—but his grip was like steel wrapped in velvet. Warm, firm, immovable. Possessive.

“Let go,” I snapped, yanking my arm again.

He didn’t even flinch. Just kept walking, boots crunching softly over leaves and gravel. His profile was lit faintly by the moon—sharp, composed, unreadable.

“I said let go.”

Finally, he stopped. Turned toward me....