The world tilted.
Elara saw the floor give way beneath Caleb, the rotted timber splintering instantly. He dropped, his arms flailing for purchase.
"Elara!"
He lunged forward, grabbing a crossbeam with one hand, his body swinging down into the hole he had created. Dust exploded into the air, choking and thick.
Elara scrambled across the floor, coughing. "Caleb!"
She reached the hole. He was dangling over the void of the reading room ceiling, one arm hooked around a beam, his feet kicking at nothing. Below him was a twenty-foot drop to the hard floor of the library.
"Grab my hand!" she yelled, throwing herself onto her stomach.
Caleb looked up, his face pale, eyes wide with adrenaline. He reached up, his hand grasping for hers. Their fingers brushed, slipped, then locked.
He was heavy. Impossibly heavy. The weight of him yanked her forward, her shoulder screaming in protest. Her shirt scraped against the rough wood, but she held on.
"Pull!" he gritted out.
"I’m trying!" Elara planted her feet against a joist, groaning with exertion. "You have to help me! Climb!"
Caleb braced his other arm against the beam, using the momentum to swing his leg up onto the solid floor. With a grunt of effort, Elara hauled him backward, away from the jagged teeth of the broken floor.
They collapsed onto the dusty boards, chests heaving. Caleb rolled onto his back, staring at the rafters. A cut on his cheek was bleeding sluggishly.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was broken only by their ragged breathing.
Elara sat up, shaking. She looked at the hole, then at him. "You almost died."
"You have a talent for understatement," Caleb rasped. He sat up slowly, wincing. He put a hand to his cheek and pulled it away, seeing the blood. "Damn."
"You’re bleeding." Elara shifted closer, instinct taking over. She reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a tissue. "Here."
She dabbed at the cut on his cheek. He flinched, his eyes locking onto hers. The adrenaline was fading, leaving something else in its wake—a raw, electric awareness. They were inches apart. She could see the flecks of darker grey in his irises.
"You saved me," he said quietly.
"You would have done the same," she replied, her voice trembling slightly.
"I wouldn't have been fast enough," he admitted. He reached up and caught her wrist, stopping her hand mid-motion. His grip was gentle, his thumb pressing against her pulse point. "Thank you, Elara."
He said her name like a caress. The air in the attic seemed to thicken. The animosity of the last few weeks felt miles away. All that existed was the dust motes dancing in the light and the heat of his hand on her skin.
"Your ego would have cushioned your fall," she whispered, trying to break the tension.
Caleb let out a breathless laugh. "Probably."
He didn't let go of her wrist. He looked at her mouth again, his gaze lingering. Elara’s heart hammered, a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to?
Suddenly, Caleb pulled back. He cleared his throat and released her hand, standing up abruptly. He brushed the dust from his coat, his expression shuttering.
"The floorboard was rotted," he said, his voice returning to its professional clip. "It looked solid from the outside. A trap."
"Are you okay?" Elara asked, standing up too.
"Fine." He winced as he put weight on his right ankle. "Twisted it. Nothing serious."
He limped toward the stairs. "We should go. It’s not safe up here."
"Caleb..."
He paused at the top of the stairs, looking back. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were dark, turbulent. "You were right. The bones are strong. But the details... the details are trying to kill us. We need to be careful."
"Careful," Elara repeated, watching him disappear down the stairs.
She touched her wrist where he had held her. The skin still burned. She had saved his life. And somewhere in that terrifying moment, the lines of the battle had blurred beyond recognition.
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