53. The Unguarded Clash

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After minutes of standing outside Ansel's room, nerves twisting my stomach into knots, I finally summoned the courage to turn the handle and step inside.

The sight that greeted me stopped me in my tracks.

"What the...?" I murmured under my breath, my words trailing off as my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room.

The space had transformed into something out of a gothic dreamscape.

The flickering glow of dozens of candles painted the room in warm, shifting hues of gold and amber. Shadows danced on the walls, creating an almost hypnotic effect.

The air carried a faint scent of beeswax, aged wood, and herbs, earthy and rich, and as I stepped closer, I noticed the candles themselves.

Their intricate shapes and uneven edges looked like they had been handcrafted centuries ago, the beeswax so pure it seemed to glisten in the candlelight.

I couldn't spot Zev anywhere, so I moved instinctively toward the switch to turn on the overhead light. Just as my fingers brushed the wall, a voice cut through the silence.

"Do you wish to blind me with that hideous glare you mortals call light, mate?"

I froze, turning my head toward the source of the voice. Zev stepped out from the shadows near the cupboard, his golden eyes catching the candlelight like twin flames.

He was still wearing Ansel's clothes, much to my surprise-and possibly his displeasure.

I raised an eyebrow, dropping my hand from the switch. "So now you have a problem with lights too?"

Zev tilted his head, his expression etched with disdain. "The hum of those cursed wires..." His golden eyes flicked toward the walls as if he could see the network of cables hidden within. "That buzzing in the air-it's an insult to silence."

I almost laughed at the irony.

So, even you understand the value of silence. Hard to believe.

But instead, I asked, "You can hear that?"

He gave me a curt nod; his tone heavy with exasperation. "Every single time. I don't understand how this insect or those bugs-" he sneered the word "-who dare to call themselves beings of superior senses, tolerate it. Or maybe their senses aren't as remarkable as they think."

I couldn't help but mutter, "It seems your senses are more sensitive."

Then I glanced around at the room again. "But really, four or five candles would've sufficed. Why light a dozen like you're performing a ritual to summon a ghost or something?"

Zev's gaze was steady, his tone completely serious. "It's romantic."

I choked on air, caught completely off guard. "Romantic?!"

"It's the first time I've had this much time alone with you," he continued, completely unfazed by my reaction. "And it's been far too long since I've had control to do things my way." He stepped closer, his golden eyes glowing in the soft candlelight. "Also, candlelight is the only honest light."

"What does that even mean?" I asked, still reeling from his unexpected sentimentality.

He stopped five steps away from me, his expression unusually introspective. "It knows the beauty of impermanence. It flickers, it falters, it dies."

I blinked, taken aback.

For a moment, he didn't sound like the arrogant, self-absorbed prick I know.

"And those artificial lights," he continued, his voice hardening, "remind me of flies-loud, obnoxious, and always buzzing where they don't belong." He paused. "At least flies eventually die."

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