So here I was, back in the Emberglyphs alcove, trying not to set the whole damn section on fire with my frustration.
The light was low—mostly emberlight flickering up from the hearth below—and the cold draft through the stone made the back of my neck twitch. The scroll I was holding was brittle and useless. Something about ceremonial branding techniques that had nothing to do with glyphwork and everything to do with posturing.
I muttered a curse under my breath and shoved it back into the case.
And then I felt it.
Cold.
Not the room.
Her.
I turned just as Aster stepped into the alcove, her pale blue hair catching the emberlight in all the worst, most perfect ways. She moved like a thought you tried not to have—quiet, smooth, inevitable.
Of course it was her. Why not make this day worse?
She stopped when she saw me. Her arms folded. Her eyes locked onto mine. We stared at each other like we were deciding whether this counted as war.
“Looking for another scroll to set on fire?” she asked, voice like iced velvet.
“Thought I’d try learning something for once,” I said, “since Shara’s apparently better at my own glyphs than I am.”
“Shocking,” she said. “A Fire Fae letting someone else do the reading.”
I snorted. “Careful. You’re almost sounding impressed.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
It spiraled fast from there. Sarcasm was our first language. We slipped right back into it like old gloves—threadbare, worn, still warm from the last time.
“I’m surprised you came here at all,” she said. “Isn’t patience against your religion?”
“I was hoping to get some peace and quiet,” I shot back. “Didn’t expect a glacier to roll in.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Still hiding behind noise?”
I stiffened. “Still pretending you don’t feel anything?”
That stopped her.
Just for a second.
Long enough for me to dig in my robes and pull out the glyph sketch I’d made from the one on the back of Shara’s leaf. I didn’t even think about it—just held it up between us like a dare.
“Recognize this?”
Her eyes flicked to the page. Something changed.
Small. But I saw it.
The way her shoulders tensed. The flicker in her breath.
She knew it.
“I’ve seen that reaction before,” I said, voice lower. “You know something.”
Aster’s expression didn’t shift, but her arms wrapped a little tighter around her middle. “Did you know the Water Fae once had glyphs of their own?”
I blinked. “No.”
She nodded once. “A long time ago. Passed down through stories. Nothing written. Not anymore.”
“Why bring it up now?”
She looked away. “It’s just old Water Fae lore. Nothing important.”
Her silence would’ve been easier to ignore.
And the spark in my chest turned to heat again—not anger this time. Just pressure. Building. Stretching something between us, cold and fragile.
I folded the glyph sketch back into my robes. Not because I was done with it, but because I couldn’t stand the way she looked at it. Like it was something old she’d buried and didn’t want to see clawed back up.
“You’re deflecting,” I said.
“So are you,” she snapped.
And just like that, the fire was back.
“You don’t get to pretend you’re above this,” I said. “You freeze every emotion you don’t like and call it clarity. It’s not strength. It’s fear.”
Her jaw clenched. “At least I don’t explode every time I feel something.”
“Better that than what you do,” I bit out. “Which is nothing.”
Her eyes flared—not magically. Just sharply. Fully.
“Don’t talk like you know me.”
“Don’t act like I don’t.”
It was reckless. Stupid. But it felt real.
And then I don’t know who moved first—maybe her, maybe me—but we closed the space like it had never been there.
The kiss hit like steam off a broken pipe—fast, hot, pressurized.
Her mouth was cold against mine at first, then warming, opening. Her hand caught the edge of my robes. Mine tangled in her hair before I realized it, fingers sliding over the icy strands until the frost melted under heat and water snaked around hand.
Her skin was snow. Mine was coals.
And the space between us? Condensation rising like a spell that couldn’t decide if it should freeze or ignite.
I didn’t care which it did. As long as it stayed.
She tasted like starlight and fury. Like something I didn’t deserve.
We pulled apart—breathless, stunned, eyes wide like we were still waiting for something else to crash.
Aster’s voice was quiet, but sharp enough to slice. “Don’t do that again unless you mean it.”
Then she turned and walked away—back straight, steps even, frost curling behind her like armor.
And I just stood there, heart pounding like it was trying to hammer through my ribs.
Knowing damn well I did.
A Private Encounter
