Theo sat at a shadowed corner table in the café he had first met Sera. The place smelled of roasted coffee beans mixed with the faint metallic tang of old magic, and the hum of conversation ebbed and flowed around him. His gaze flicked over the patrons, cataloging details with practiced ease: a shifty-looking wizard clutching a threadbare briefcase, a witch with an enchantingly shimmering cloak, a pair of dubious characters whispering over what looked suspiciously like cursed amulets.
Old habits died hard, and Theo had always been an observer, content to exist on the periphery, analyzing and appraising. It made him feel both superior and utterly alone. People were predictable, after all, and it was easier to keep a safe distance than to risk the messy entanglements of genuine connection.
But then there was Sera.
Theo was still reeling from the unexpected turn his investigation had taken. He'd spent hours poring over every scrap of information he could find about Sera Blackwood, but dead ends seemed to be all the universe was willing to give him. Her life was a series of unanswered questions, and the more he tried to uncover, the more it felt like chasing ghosts through a maze. Frustration gnawed at him, but it was more than that. It was the sense of unease, the feeling that there were shadows lurking in her past he couldn't quite illuminate.
Sending his house-elf, Scipio, to follow her had been a calculated risk. It was a breach of trust, he knew that. But when your entire life had been built on a foundation of suspicion and survival, trust was a foreign concept you couldn't afford to grant freely. Still, when Scipio had returned with a sullen look and a story of being caught, Theo knew he had crossed a line. Sera was clever, sharper than most witches he'd ever met. Of course she would notice a tail, even one as unobtrusive as a house-elf.
And then came the note as he was nursing a tumbler of firewhiskey. Sera's handwriting was sharp and precise, each letter etched with controlled frustration. We need to talk. Urgent. Meet me at the Café. He'd been replaying those words in his mind ever since, anxiety simmering beneath his usual calm facade.
Theo didn't like feeling helpless. Yet, he couldn't shake the image of Sera—proud, strong, and alone—being forced to reach out to him for help. It unsettled something deep inside him, something he'd been trying to suppress: an urge to protect, to be more than just an indifferent bystander in her life.
Sera walked in with her head held high, her expression guarded yet determined, a fortress built out of grit and raw willpower. She was, in many ways, an enigma. Theo prided himself on being able to read people, but with her, he felt as though he were always a step behind. The mystery of her drew him in, even as her guardedness left him feeling unmoored.
Sera spotted him and approached, her strides confident, but he didn't miss the tension in her shoulders or the way her fingers curled slightly, as if bracing for a fight. The emotional armor she wore was as visible as the slight frown she couldn't quite smooth away. She sat across from him, setting her bag down with a thud.
Theo felt the familiar pang of guilt settle in his chest as he studied Sera's tense posture. Her jaw was set, and her eyes—dark and stormy—held a warning he'd be wise to heed.
"Do you have any idea how invasive it is to be followed around by a bloody house elf?" Her voice was low but carried a biting edge that cut through the background noise. "You had no right, Theo."
Theo sighed, the guilt twisting into something more uncomfortable. He wasn't used to being called out, not like this. "It wasn't about rights," he countered, though he knew how weak that sounded. "It was about your safety."
She glared at him, and Theo could see the fine tremor in her hands where they rested on the table. "My safety?" she echoed, incredulous. "You think being spied on makes me feel safe?" Her voice cracked slightly, and she cursed under her breath, as if hating the hint of vulnerability she'd let slip.
"I didn't mean to make you feel… violated." The word tasted bitter, and he realized how badly he'd miscalculated. "I just didn't know how else to protect you."
Her laugh was dry, humorless. "Protect me? Theo, you barely know me. And instead of asking me what I needed, you decided to take matters into your own hands." She leaned in, her eyes blazing with hurt. "That's not protection. That's control."
Theo felt his composure waver, her words sinking in deeper than he wanted to admit. He prided himself on his ability to maintain control, to anticipate outcomes, to never feel out of his depth. But Sera had a way of unearthing things he'd buried long ago, the parts of himself that still craved acceptance, that still feared rejection. "You're right," he said quietly. "I crossed a line."
The admission seemed to catch her off guard, and her eyes softened, if only for a moment. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then looked away.
Theo watched her, the urge to reach out almost overwhelming. He felt the distance between them, a chasm he'd helped carve, and he knew an apology wouldn't be enough to bridge it. Yet he had to try. "I've never… been good at this," he confessed, his voice lower, rougher. "At knowing how to care without… overstepping."
Sera's gaze flicked back to his, and he saw the conflict there, the part of her that wanted to let her guard down and the part that screamed at her to stay armored. "You have to trust me," she said softly, almost like a plea. "Trust that I can handle myself, even if I'm not… what you're used to."
Theo's heart clenched at the vulnerability she was letting him see, the courage it must have taken for her to be this honest. "I'm trying," he replied, and he meant it. "But it's hard when I know you're in danger, and I don't even know from whom."
"I want to help," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you'll let me."
Sera's lips pressed into a thin line, and she studied him, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. Finally, she exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Fine," she said. "But no more elves. No more spying."
Theo nodded, relief and hope blooming in his chest. "Deal."
He took a sip of his coffee, letting the bitter taste ground him. "I want a truce, Sera but you're not exactly making it easy, you know. One minute, you're asking me for help, the next you're keeping me at arm's length." His gaze sharpened. "What are you so afraid of?"
The question landed between them like a challenge. Something vulnerable flickered in her expression. But just as quickly, she shuttered it away. "It's complicated," she replied, her voice low.
Theo sighed, his patience fraying. "Everything is complicated, Sera. That's not an answer."
Her jaw tightened, and she looked away. "You wouldn't understand," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
A pulse of irritation surged through him, but it was undercut by something else: the sting of rejection, of being shut out. Again. "Try me," he challenged.
Sera's eyes met his, and he saw the wariness there, the layers of fear and defiance she wore like a shield. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then hesitated. Theo could almost feel the words she was holding back, the truth she was so close to revealing.
Instead, she shook her head. "I can't," she said, her voice cracking, and the sound of it made something twist painfully in Theo's chest. "I just… I can't."
The frustration bubbled up in him, a mix of anger and a deeper hurt he refused to acknowledge. "You know," he said, his voice rougher than he intended, "trust goes both ways. You can't expect me to help if you're going to keep me in the dark."
Sera's face hardened, her defenses slamming back into place. "You think this is easy for me?" she snapped. "I didn't ask for any of this—for you to get involved."
Theo's protective instincts flared, and he leaned forward, his voice low but fierce. "Well, too bad, because I'm already involved." His hands clenched around his cup. "You're in danger, Sera. You don't get to push me away just because it's easier."
She looked startled, her eyes wide, and for a moment, Theo thought he'd finally broken through. But then she drew back, her expression closing off again. "I don't need you to save me," she said, each word a defiant strike.
Theo exhaled, his anger softening into something closer to desperation. "I'm not trying to save you," he said, his voice gentler now. "I just don't want you to get hurt."
The tension between them was palpable, heavy with everything left unsaid. He watched her, saw the battle warring in her eyes, and knew that whatever secrets she was holding, they were tearing her apart.
"Just… think about it," he added, his tone almost pleading. "Let me help."
Sera's mouth pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Theo thought she might refuse him again. But then she gave a small, reluctant nod, and the fragile truce settled between them.
Theo wanted to believe it was enough, but deep down, he knew he was only beginning to grasp the depths of the world Sera inhabited—and the parts of himself he was terrified to confront.