Bound by Time: The Keeper's Secret

Conversations

Cassandra stepped back into the bar, still dazed from the intense encounter with the silver-haired stranger in the hallway. The warmth of his touch still clung to her skin, and her heart hadn't quite slowed its frantic pace. She needed a moment to breathe, to collect herself, and perhaps to understand the strange pull she felt toward a man she hadn't even exchanged words with.

The bar was dimly lit, the low hum of voices and the clink of glasses creating a steady backdrop. Her eyes immediately landed on the bartender, his broad figure positioned at the far end of the bar. He moved with the kind of effortless grace that came with experience, wiping down glasses with slow, measured strokes. His back was mostly turned to her, but she could see enough of his profile to take in his sharp, distinguished features.

When he turned to face her fully, she was struck by the ruggedness of his appearance. His silver hair, streaked with touches of grey, swept back loosely from his forehead, and a few rogue strands fell across his brow. His face was lined with the signs of age—not in a way that made him seem old, but rather in the way of a man who had lived through enough to earn every mark. His beard, dusted with grey, gave him a rugged, dignified look, and his silver eyes gleamed with quiet intelligence.

Cassandra wasn't attracted to him, not in the way she had been to the mysterious man she had just left behind in the corridor. But she could appreciate the bartender's ruggedness—his strong jaw, the way his broad shoulders filled out the dark shirt he wore, the quiet, commanding air he carried. He had the look of someone who had seen more than his fair share of the world, and though he wasn't her type, there was something undeniably compelling about him. If she had to label it, he gave off definite dilf energy—a man well-aged, seasoned, and still strong.

He caught her gaze and offered a faint, knowing smile, setting down the glass he had been polishing. "Tough night?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth, the sound of it settling into the low hum of the room like it belonged there.

Cassandra blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "You could say that," she replied, slipping onto a stool at the bar.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but said nothing more for the moment. Instead, he leaned on the counter, his sharp silver eyes still watching her, as if assessing what she needed.

She shifted slightly under his gaze, feeling an odd mix of calm and unease. He seemed like someone who knew more than he let on—someone who had answers, but only gave them if he felt like it. For now, though, she just needed something to ground herself.

"I'm guessing you're not going to give me a straight answer if I ask where I am," she said, trying to keep her tone light.

The bartender's smile deepened, but he didn't laugh. "That depends. Are you looking for a real answer, or something that'll make you feel better?"

Cassandra sighed, glancing around the room. The warm light flickered off the dark wood of the bar, casting deep shadows that made the place feel ancient, timeless. "At this point, I'm not sure which I'd prefer."

Before the bartender could respond, Cassandra's attention was drawn to a pair of figures seated in the far corner of the room. Even in the dim light, they stood out—two women, twins by the look of them, with striking features that made it impossible to look away.