Lanterns in the Fog

The engine hummed in the quiet evening. Callum's hand rested on the gearshift, unmoving. Beside him, Seraphine sat with her seatbelt already fastened, posture straight, waiting for the drive to begin. The radio played low jazz—barely noticeable beneath the hush between them.

But Callum didn't shift the car into drive.

Instead, he turned to her, voice low and thoughtful. "Shall... we rather walk?"

Seraphine glanced sideways, surprised. She studied his face for a moment, finding no strain there—just a certain stillness in his eyes.

"I don't mind," she answered, her voice steady. "It's not far."

Callum gave a short nod, already unbuckling his seatbelt. Outside, the sky had turned a shade deeper, as if dusk were reluctant to end the day. The streets were emptying, bathed in the halo of scattered amber streetlamps.

As they stepped out of the car, Callum did something unexpected.

He reached for her hand.

His fingers closed over hers— not tentative, not longing, but firm. Familiar. Like someone holding onto the only thread that tethered him to calm. There was no romance in the gesture, yet it meant something.

They walked side by side in silence, letting the city stretch before them in quiet lanes and shuttered storefronts. Seraphine didn't ask questions. She didn't need to. The way Callum's hand clung to hers said more than words could offer.

Then, from above, the clouds opened with a sigh.

It started soft—the kind of rain that dusts the hair and darkens the ground in petals of moisture. But within seconds, it thickened into a steady downpour, pattering against roofs, leaves, and pavement alike.

Seraphine instinctively moved to run, her legs bracing to dash toward the nearest awning.

But she was stopped.

Callum's grip had tightened.

She looked back at him, brows furrowed. But he didn't move faster. He walked with the same unhurried pace, the rain soaking into his shirt and plastering strands of hair against his forehead.

"Callum," she murmured.

He looked up at the sky as if it had finally permitted him to breathe.

"Let's just walk," he said softly.

So they did.

Beneath the curtain of rain, without umbrellas or haste, they walked, like ghosts returning home. The city around them blurred—lights becoming smears, cars distant murmurs. The rain wasn't cold. It was… grounding.

And then—suddenly—Callum let go of her hand.

He veered off the path toward a shallow collection of rainwater pooling beside the curb. Without warning, he lifted his foot and kicked weakly, sending a splash upward.

Water rained onto Seraphine's slacks and coat. She stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing, lips parting in a startled breath.

Callum's face broke into the faintest, most unapologetic grin.

"You did not just—" she began.

He kicked again, this time sending another wave her way. A quiet, impish glint lit his eyes.

She stood there in disbelief.

Seraphine Elion. Daughter of one of the most feared generals in the southern quadrant. A woman trained in sharp lines, poised speech, and clean logic. But in that moment, she was none of those things. She bent slightly, scooped a hand through the puddle, and flung it toward him.

Callum recoiled with a laugh—not too loud, just enough to echo between them—and backed away. She followed with another splash, and soon they stood in the rain, tossing streaks of water like squabbling children. Seraphine's usual restraint unraveled like thread in the downpour. Her hair dripped into her face, her sleeves clung to her arms, but she didn't care.

She was laughing—genuine and breathless.

Still, Callum was faster. Bigger. Better at defense.

So she gave up.

Sort of.

Without warning, she ran forward, jumping behind him.

"Fine! If I can't win," she declared through her smile, "then you're carrying me!"

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feet lifting from the ground, and Callum staggered for a step, catching her instinctively.

"What the hell, Sera—" he said between chuckles.

"Home. Now," she ordered, her chin resting atop his damp shoulder. "Before Jonas calls in a search team."

He shook his head with a smile but didn't argue. His arms looped beneath her knees as he adjusted her on his back, her soaked coat heavy but warm against him.

And under the rain, like two stubborn children, they continued walking.

---

The rain had settled into a soft patter by the time Callum adjusted the weight on his back. Her breath was warm against his skin, and somehow it didn't feel like a burden—just... a strange kind of quiet closeness he couldn't explain.

They were halfway down the long, tree-lined road toward the estate. The only sounds were the hush of rainfall, their shared rhythm of breath, and the occasional squish of water beneath his steps.

Sera's eyes remained half-lidded, her cheek against his shoulder, and for a moment, she let her thoughts drift.

Lior.

She remembered a rainy day in her early twenties. They were on base, caught in a sudden summer downpour while walking back from drills. Lior, ever the troublemaker, had grabbed her hand and dragged her under a narrow concrete awning.

"Why do you always walk straight into the rain?" he'd grinned, water dripping from his lashes.

"Because it always came unexpectedly," she'd said.

He'd laughed, tossing his soaked jacket at her. "Luckily... you are a strong, healthy woman, or you're going to catch a cold."

They had stayed there, huddled beneath the overhang, watching the rain carve rivers down the training fields. She was different then—sharper, more closed. Her smiles had to be earned. But Lior had always found a way to draw them out, even in the rain.

And now...

Here she was again, under the same sky but in a very different kind of storm. No shelter. No awning. No Lior.

Only Callum. 

The man was carrying her without complaint. And for some reason… her lips tilted into a rare, mischievous smile.

Still on his back, Sera shifted her weight slightly and leaned closer—so close her lips nearly brushed his ear.

"Callum," she whispered, voice low and smooth.

"Hm?" he replied, keeping his focus forward.

Sera leaned in.

And pressed a kiss to his ear.

He froze mid-step.

"Don't," he muttered.

But Sera just grinned and kissed the edge of his jaw this time.

"Stop," he said again, quieter, his steps slowing.

But she didn't. She moved her lips to the line beneath his ear, warm against the chill of the rain, and gently opened her mouth—enough to graze his skin with her teeth. Not biting. Just letting him feel it.

A faint noise escaped him—half growl, half exhale. His feet stumbled before he caught himself.

"Sera—"

But even as he said it, her lips were already on the curve of his neck. Callum stood there, water dripping from his bangs, lips parted, chest rising. She could see the heat rising in the flush creeping along his skin. With wicked satisfaction, Sera leaned in and kissed the fresh mark she left. A soft, wet imprint in the shape of a small bruise.

Then another.

Callum shifted slightly, as if trying to move her off—but he didn't push. He didn't yell.

He just stood there, in the rain, letting her do it.

Letting her mark him.

---

After the third kiss, Callum moved his head farther.

"No more," he said, voice gravelly. Not angry. Just breathless.

Sera hummed, the sound teasing. She rested her head on his shoulder again, lips barely parted in defiance.

"Fine," she murmured, but the smile in her voice betrayed her.

Callum didn't respond immediately. But then, with a deliberate shift of his hand, he adjusted his grip higher—and pinched her butt.

Sera jolted. Her body tensed with a surprised squeak, and she straightened so quickly she nearly slipped off his back.

"Mr. Virell!" she gasped, half-shocked, half-scolding.

He just kept walking, utterly unfazed, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"Fair trade," he said, calm and unapologetic. "You bite, I pinch."

Sera, still flustered, blinked at the back of his neck, caught between indignation and disbelief. But despite herself, a breathless laugh escaped her. She buried her face into his shoulder again—not to hide, but to keep from letting him see the way her lips curved helplessly upward.

He held her tighter, and under the soft rhythm of rain, they walked the rest of the way home.

---

When the gates of the estate came into view, Sera whispered against the side of his neck—

"Jonas is probably still awake, waiting to hand us towels."

Callum let out a quiet snort. His voice was raw, but the tension had melted from it.

"We must double his salary then."