𝑽𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑨 | 𝐓.𝐒 |

𝒙𝒗𝒊𝒊. 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅

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𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚠 𝚋𝚢
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕
𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛...𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜, 𝙱𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚑𝚔𝚊..

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𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤, the dim light of the lamp casting long shadows across the room as he penned the letter. Each word was calculated, and deliberate, as though it would be the last statement he'd ever make. He detailed the situation with the British Intelligence Service, the coercion, and the way Major Campbell had twisted his life into a dangerous game. He named names, laid out every lie, every manipulation, with a cold, surgical precision. He was gambling his life, his future, on this piece of paper.

Once the letter was done, he sealed it in an envelope and turned to Valentina. She was sitting across from him, her face unreadable, but her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. Thomas held out the envelope, his fingers brushing hers as she took it.

"If I don't come back from the Derby..." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

Valentina swallowed hard, her heart tightening in her chest. "I'll mail it." Her voice was steady, but inside, she felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.

Thomas nodded, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than usual. There were things he couldn't say, things he didn't know how to say. So instead, he gave her a small, almost imperceptible smile before turning away, the weight of the day ahead pressing down on him.

As he walked away, Valentina felt a heat rise in her chest, a mix of longing and urgency that crackled in the air between them. It was as if the unsaid words hung heavy in the room, wrapping around them like a veil. She could almost feel his presence lingering, a warmth that made her skin tingle.

In an impulsive moment, she rose from her seat and stepped toward him, the distance between them shrinking. "Thomas," she called softly, the name slipping from her lips like a plea.

He paused, turning back, and the air shifted again, thick with unspoken desires. She could see the way his gaze darkened, something primal flickering behind his eyes. "What is it?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Without thinking, Valentina closed the space between them, her breath hitching as she reached for his collar, fingers brushing against the fabric. "Just... be careful tomorrow," she murmured, the words laden with more meaning than they should have held.

Thomas captured her wrist, the touch electric. "I will." His voice was gravelly, the weight of the promise hanging between them. He didn't release her, the warmth of his hand sending shivers through her. "And you? You'll stay here, waiting for me, aye?"

"Always," she replied, her pulse racing. The proximity felt intoxicating, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. She could sense the tension in him, the way his muscles coiled tight as if ready to spring.

"Good," he said, leaning in closer, his breath mingling with hers. "Because you're the first thing I want to see when I come back."

She searched his eyes, the vulnerability there stirring something deep within her. "You will," she breathed, and at that moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them suspended in a bubble of possibility.