Arwen woke up in a massive room, the space exuding a quiet strength, much like the man who had brought her here. The slate gray walls and dark wooden beams mirrored Diarmid’s calm but commanding presence. The tall bookshelves, filled with leather-bound tomes and ancient curios, seemed to hold secrets as old as time, echoing the enigmatic aura that surrounded him. The heavy velvet curtains, currently drawn, hinted at a desire for privacy and control, traits she had come to associate with him.

Even the king-sized bed she lay in, with its plush black duvet and dark gray linens, seemed to envelop her in a protective embrace, reminding her of his unwavering vigilance. It was as if the room itself whispered of Diarmid’s essence—both a sanctuary and a reminder of the storm he carried within. The walls were painted in a deep slate gray, accented by dark wooden beams that stretched across the high ceiling. One wall was lined with tall bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes and a few curios that spoke of ancient traditions.

A large, unlit fireplace dominated another wall, flanked by two overstuffed armchairs in a rich, burgundy leather. The bed she was lying in was king-sized, covered with dark gray linens and a plush black duvet, the kind that made her feel like she was sinking into a cloud. Heavy velvet curtains framed a set of tall windows, currently drawn, letting in just enough light to cast soft shadows across the room.

“Diarmid brought me here,” she thought, the words echoing faintly in her mind as she glanced around the vastness of the room.

Her eyes darted around, taking in every detail, and then it hit her. She hadn’t messaged Josh. Panic set in as she grabbed her phone from the nightstand, quickly typing a message.

Josh, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you where I was. Please don’t freak out—

Arwen stared at the screen, her message unfinished but already sent, anxiety twisting in her chest as the minutes dragged on. Finally, her phone buzzed with a reply.

Brigit already messaged me, Josh replied, his tone light even through text. She said you’re having a normal sleepover and not to worry. So I’m not worrying, but I expect details later. Love ya.

Arwen let out a relieved sigh. Leave it to Brigit to handle things. Still, a part of her felt uneasy. She hadn’t seen Diarmid since last night, and Nick’s face flashed in her mind. Her heart ached at the thought of him—the protective older brother who had always been her anchor. Nick had a way of making her feel safe, even in chaos, with his steady presence and knowing smiles that spoke volumes without a word.

But Diarmid was different. Where Nick’s protection felt warm and familiar, like a well-worn blanket that brought comfort and safety, Diarmid’s felt intense, almost like standing in the eye of a storm—thrilling and terrifying all at once. Her mind wrestled with the contrast, the way Nick’s presence had always calmed her fears, while Diarmid seemed to awaken something deeper, a mix of uncertainty and undeniable pull that left her unsteady. It was this very duality that gnawed at her, forcing her to confront her insecurities head-on. It unsettled her, this contrast, and yet, a part of her craved it. If Nick were here, he’d know what to do. He’d know how to make sense of this. And yet, she found herself wondering if Diarmid could, too, in his own way.

And then there was Michael. She needed to inform him about everything. The hooded figure, the strange connection she felt, and the overwhelming sense that this was bigger than her.

Her fingers hovered over her phone, debating whether to send him a message now. What would she even say?

Her thoughts spiraled, and another wave of worry washed over her. Diarmid. What if he thought she was a freak? She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to her hands.

“Nephilim aren’t normal,” she murmured, her voice tinged with self-doubt. Her mind spiraled into darker places, remembering the moments she tried to fit in, always falling short. "What am I even doing here?" she thought, her insecurities bubbling up. She clenched her hands, willing the doubt to subside, but the ache in her chest lingered, a cruel reminder of how different she was from everyone else.

The room, so perfectly Diarmid, felt suddenly intimidating. She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. She wasn’t alone. Not entirely. But the weight of her secrets pressed heavily on her chest, and she wondered if she could carry it much longer.

Then a knock was heard. Her eyes snapped open, and she froze. Slowly, the door creaked open, and Diarmid walked in, his presence filling the space as effortlessly as the storm he reminded her of.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low but warm. His gaze swept over her, assessing, as if ensuring she was unharmed. “How do you feel?”

Arwen sat up, clutching the duvet to her chest. “I… I’m okay. Just…” She hesitated, her eyes darting toward her phone before meeting his piercing gaze. “Trying to process everything.”

Diarmid nodded, stepping further into the room. He leaned casually against the fireplace, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that made the room feel smaller, his presence more commanding.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he said, his tone softening. “But you’re safe here. No one will hurt you while you’re under my protection.”

The way he said it, with such certainty, made her chest tighten. “Thank you,” she whispered, though the words felt inadequate.

Diarmid’s gaze flickered to her phone. “Were you messaging Michael?”

Her head snapped up, surprised by his directness. “No,” she said quickly. “I was… Josh. Just letting him know I’m okay.”

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Good. Michael can wait.”

Arwen frowned. “I need to tell him… about everything. The hooded figure, the strange sense of unease. He might have answers.”

Diarmid’s jaw tightened, the only sign of his displeasure. “We’ll reach out to him. Together. But not yet. Right now, you need rest and time to think.”

His words were calm, but there was an underlying edge that Arwen couldn’t ignore. She couldn’t tell what it was, and it made her uneasy.

“Diarmid… why are you doing this?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He straightened, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “Because you matter, Arwen,” he said, each word deliberate. “More than you realize.”

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Her heart skipped a beat, but before she could respond, Brigit’s voice called from the hallway. “Diarmid, Finn needs you downstairs. It’s about Michael.”

Diarmid’s eyes darkened, but he gave her a small nod. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Arwen alone in the massive room, her thoughts more tangled than ever.

Without a word, I hastily follow suit with Diarmid. He’s already at the bottom of the staircase.

Damn, he walks fast!

I quicken my pace, trying to catch up, but before I can take another step, my phone rings. I fumble for it, answering without checking the screen, thinking it might be my parents or Josh.

“Arwen?!” Michael’s voice comes through the receiver, sharp and urgent.

The sound of his voice makes me freeze mid-step. The room seems to grow quieter as if everyone at the bottom of the stairs has suddenly turned their attention to me.

“Michael,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Diarmid’s head snaps up in my direction, his sharp blue-grey eyes narrowing as they lock onto mine. His relaxed demeanor is gone, replaced by something steely and alert.

“Where are you?” Michael demands. His tone is clipped, like he’s barely holding something back.

“I’m…” My eyes flicker nervously to Diarmid, who has now taken a few steps toward me, his expression unreadable. “I’m with Diarmid,” I say softly, hoping Michael wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.

“Arwen, listen to me carefully,” Michael says, his voice lowering into something more intense. “You need to leave. Right now.”

“What? Why?” I whisper, my heart starting to race.

“Something’s coming,” Michael says cryptically, his words causing a knot of unease to form in my stomach. “I don’t have time to explain, but you are not safe there.”

I glance at Diarmid, who has stopped at the foot of the stairs, his jaw tightening as he watches me. There’s an unspoken question in his gaze, and I don’t have the answer.

“What’s wrong?” he calls up to me, his tone firm but tinged with concern.

I lower the phone slightly, my voice trembling. “Michael says… I’m not safe here.”

His eyes darken, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his features. He moves closer, his powerful stride closing the gap between us in seconds.

“Hand me the phone,” he says firmly, holding out his hand.

I hesitate, looking at the phone in my hand before slowly handing it to him. As he presses it to his ear, I can feel the shift in his demeanor—his usual playful nature replaced by the commanding presence of someone ready to face whatever danger Michael is warning us about.

“This is Diarmid,” he growls into the phone, his voice low and dangerous. “Explain. Now.”

I stand there frozen, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t going to wait for us to figure it out.

Later, I find myself seated on Diarmid’s bed again, his presence looming only a step away. He and Finn speak in hushed tones near the door, their conversation too low for me to make out. Whatever they’re discussing, it’s serious.

"Tha mi a' sireadh comraich bhon dorchadas, bhuaibh dìon gràdhach, a Dhia ghràdhaich. Tha mi a' sireadh comraich bhon dorchadas, bhuaibh dìon gràdhach, a Dhia ghràdhaich. Bheir mi taing m'anail agus earbsa airson sìrraidheachd, ar dòchas, ar gràdh. An neach-dìon againn, ar creideamh. An solas againn, ar Dia, gu bràth."

The Gaelic prayer Mom had taught me days before my birthday echoes in my mind, a fragile comfort against the fear pooling in my chest.

Diarmid had insisted earlier that Michael come here, declaring he wouldn’t let me leave his “goddamn house.” His words, not mine.

I glance at my phone. My dad had responded to my message quickly, reassuring me that the Circle was implementing security measures. They were safe—for now.

But the weight of everything refuses to lift. Tears prick my eyes, and I press my fingers together tightly, fighting the wave of emotions threatening to break free.

“Nick,” I whisper brokenly, barely able to say his name aloud. I need him now. His strength, his unwavering calm.

The tears win, slipping silently down my cheeks.

“I’ve got you,” Diarmid says suddenly, his voice low and soothing. I hadn’t noticed him move, but he’s now crouched in front of me, his hands hovering just inches from mine as if unsure whether I’ll let him in.

My gaze meets his, and something in the depth of his blue-grey eyes—steady, unwavering—loosens the knot in my chest.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says with quiet conviction.

Sitting on the edge of Diarmid’s bed, I struggle to keep my emotions in check. My fingers tremble, clasped tightly together, and my whispered plea for Nick still lingers in the air. The weight of everything—Michael’s cryptic warning, the unknown danger, the Circle’s precarious safety—presses down on me, threatening to crush me.

“Arwen,” Diarmid murmurs, tilting his head to catch my gaze. “It’s okay to cry.”

His words undo me. A soft sob escapes my lips, and before I can stop myself, the dam breaks.

I bury my face in my hands, shaking as the fear and tension pour out of me. I expect him to pull away, to let me have this moment alone. But he doesn’t.

Instead, his warm hands gently close over mine, pulling them away from my face. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice a soothing balm against my frayed nerves. “Look at me.”

I resist at first, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor. But the quiet insistence in his tone draws me in, and I finally meet his eyes.

“There’s no shame in being scared,” he says, his thumbs brushing over my knuckles in a comforting rhythm. “But I promise you, whatever happens, you’re not facing it alone.”

His words shouldn’t have the power they do, but something in the way he says them—so earnest, so unyielding—makes me believe him.

“You don’t understand,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I’m not just scared. I feel like—like everything is spiraling out of control. These weird things are happening, my parents… Nick… I don’t know what to do.”

Diarmid’s expression softens further, a flicker of something almost pained crossing his face at the mention of Nick.

“I might not know everything you’re going through,” he admits, his voice low. “But I do know what it’s like to feel the weight of responsibility. To feel like you have to hold it all together.”

I blink at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. He pauses, as though debating whether to say more.

“I’ve carried my responsibility through storms I thought would break us,” he continues, his eyes distant for a moment before they focus back on me. “But I learned something along the way: you can’t carry it all on your own. And you don’t have to.”

His words wrap around me, easing some of the tightness in my chest.

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

“Because…” He hesitates, his gaze flickering as though he’s weighing how much to reveal. “Because you’re important to me, Arwen. More than you know.”

His words catch me off guard, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at him. There’s an intensity in his eyes now, something raw and unspoken that sends a shiver down my spine.

Before I can respond, Finn clears his throat from the doorway, his expression unreadable. “Michael’s here,” he announces.

Diarmid straightens, his protective aura instantly sharpening into something fierce and commanding. He glances back at me, his hand lingering on mine for just a moment longer.

“Stay here,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll handle this.”

I nod, watching as he strides toward the door, his movements fluid and purposeful. For the first time, I notice the way Finn falls in step behind him, their silent communication a testament to the bond they share.

As the door closes behind them, the room feels colder, emptier. But the warmth of Diarmid’s touch lingers, a quiet reassurance in the chaos.