Lor blinked, his grin faltering.

"You—" He'd thought he was subtle.

She cut him off with a small flick of her hand toward the pile of logs, her eyes never leaving her work.

"Carry those. I'll give you twenty percent of the profit when I sell."

"Twenty?" Lor almost laughed, the absurdity pulling him out of his shock. "Do I look like a pack mule? Forty."

Her brows lifted slightly, just a fraction, the closest thing to amusement he'd ever seen on her face.

She adjusted her grip on the axe, tapping its edge into the dirt with a soft thud, her icy-blue eyes flicking to him briefly. "Thirty. And don't test me."

Lor smirked, sensing a crack in her icy facade.

So she does care about numbers.

"Forty, or I leave. And you can drag all this yourself."

A pause hung between them, the forest's silence amplifying the tension.

Then, "Fine. Forty."

She turned back to the tree, her axe splitting another trunk with a sharp crack, not bothering to look at him again, as if the negotiation was already forgotten.

Lor wandered to the pile, a quiet triumph warming his chest, though the weight of the first log quickly reminded him he might have oversold his bargaining power.

The bark bit into his forearms as he hefted it, the wood heavier than it looked.

"Damn…" he muttered, half to himself, half hoping she'd acknowledge his effort.

She didn't.

After a few minutes of strained hauling, his muscles burning under the weight, he couldn't resist breaking the silence. "So… how long have you really known I was watching?"

Her reply was immediate, her axe splitting another log with a clean thwack. "Since you started following me after lunch."

She tossed the halves aside, dusting frost from her fingers with a casual flick. "You aren't subtle."

Lor blinked, his hands pausing on a log. "But—I'm pretty good at hiding my—"

"Not to me." She slipped her hand into her pocket, pulling out a single silver coin, and flicked it toward him without looking.

It rang once against his chest before he caught it, his fingers closing around the cold metal.

He frowned at it, turning it over in his palm, the familiar weight sparking a flicker of recognition. "What's this?"

"Thanks," she said simply, bending to stack another log, her movements as precise as ever. "For covering me."

Lor's mouth went dry, his fingers tightening around the coin.

She knew—about the gust of wind he'd conjured to throw off the short-blade man's strike, the subtle magic he'd thought was undetectable.

He'd been so careful, masking it in the chaos of her fight.

"Why didn't you call on me then?" he asked, curiosity pushing past the shock, his voice low but insistent.

The axe split another log, the sound sharp and final.

Her shoulders rolled with the motion, her braid swaying as she stacked the pieces with meticulous care. "Because I didn't care."

"You—" Lor blinked, caught off guard. "Didn't care?"

Her eyes flicked to him briefly, sharp enough to sting, like a blade of ice grazing his skin.

"I don't care what you want. I don't care why you followed. I don't want to know what your perverted mind thinks, whether you came here to jerk off to something, or just watch me."

Her voice was flat, each word a cold, precise cut, delivered without malice but with a weight that landed hard.

Lor's jaw tightened, a flash of insult sparking in his chest, his pride pricked by her dismissal.

For a heartbeat, he felt exposed, stripped bare by her tone alone.

But beneath that sting was a strange thrill—the cold confidence, the icy indifference, only made her hotter, her untouchable aura a challenge that stirred something deep in him.

"You really know how to make a guy feel useful," he muttered, hauling another log to the stack, his muscles straining under the weight.

"I said forty percent." She bent again, her blonde hair slipping over one shoulder, catching the light in a cascade of gold. "You'll get it. Don't expect more."

He looked down at the coin still in his hand, turning it over, feeling its chill weight against his palm.

"You're… a hard woman to impress, Ameth," he said, his voice teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.

"I don't need to be impressed," she replied without missing a beat, her axe sinking into another trunk with a sharp crack. "I need the logs carried."

Lor grinned despite himself, the sting of her words fading under the quiet thrill of her acknowledgment.

Cold as ice, yet she'd given him the coin, noticed his help, even if she claimed not to care.

He stacked another log, his muscles aching now, sweat prickling his brow despite the cool forest air.

Ameth moved beside him without a word, adjusting the pile, setting it straighter, cleaner, her meticulous nature a stark contrast to the chaos of the fight she'd just won.

For a while, silence reigned again—just the rhythmic thwack of her axe, the thud of logs hitting the pile, and Lor's quiet grunts as he worked.

But in that silence, a tension built, heavy and unspoken, not the heat of lust but something sharper, more complex.

The kind of tension that pressed between them, building until it needed somewhere to go.

He risked a glance at her—the sheen of sweat on her collarbone, the faint frost still clinging to her wrists, the way her tunic clung to her lean frame when she bent.

Her face was blank, but her body betrayed her strength, her endurance, a quiet power that made his pulse quicken.

"Forty percent, huh?" he said, his voice sly as he hefted another log. "You drive a tough bargain."

She gave the smallest shrug, her axe splitting another trunk. "Profit makes more sense than favors."

"Still," he said, his grin widening, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you're starting to like having me around."

Ameth didn't even blink, her icy-blue eyes fixed on her work. "Don't flatter yourself."

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