Latest Blog Post

Tromsø.

When Chanelle arrived in Tromsø, the air was noticeably colder than in London. She pulled the collar of her jacket up to her neck, her breath misting in the chilly air—but she kept walking. Something about this northern city seemed to call to her. Quieter, lonelier... a place where she could be with herself. She’d thought of it only as a temporary escape.
But sometimes, escaping doesn’t stop the one who’s willing to follow.

When she returned to the small wooden cabin where she was staying, someone was inside. The man stood by the window, watching the northern lights. When Chanelle shut the door, he turned—as if he’d already sensed her arrival.

“How did you find me here?” Chanelle asked, her voice tired but trembling with barely hidden excitement.

He smiled, stepping toward her. “You can run from everyone, Chanelle,” he said, his voice steady in the dark, “but I won’t let you be alone.”
One more step. The distance between them had all but vanished.

Chanelle glanced away, then back at him—as if searching for certainty. In his eyes, she saw something real. Possessive. Burning.

Slowly, he placed his hands on her waist. His cold fingers brushed her warm skin beneath the sweater.
They both held their breath.
“This city, this cold, these lights...” he said, “they’ll all fade. Only you will remain. And I’ll be right here.”

Chanelle didn’t reply. But she didn’t pull away. Her eyes stayed with his. And after a beat of silence, she placed her hands on his chest. The heartbeat beneath the thin sweater told her—every word he said was real.

****

Play.