Chapter 84
Nora's POV
"Nora?"
The voice cut through the noise, low and familiar. I jerked my head up, my vision swimming, and saw Julian standing in the doorway.
He looked like he'd just come from somewhere formal, his tie loosened at the collar. His hair was slightly damp, and there was a crease between his brows that deepened when he saw me.
"What's wrong?" He crossed the room in three long strides, crouching down beside my chair. His hand came up to touch my forehead, checking for fever.
"I'm fine," I managed, but my voice came out thin and shaky, betraying me.
"You're not fine." His eyes scanned my face. "Are you sick?"
I shook my head, unable to form words.
Another crack of thunder split the air, and I couldn't stop the way I curled in on myself like a frightened animal. Julian's expression shifted, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"You're afraid of thunderstorms," he said quietly.
It wasn't a question.
"A little," I whispered, which was a lie. I was terrified. Absolutely, bone-deep terrified in a way that made me feel like a child.
Julian didn't say anything. He just stood up and moved around the office, closing every window and pulling down the blinds, shutting out the flashes of lightning. The sound of the rain dulled slightly, and some of the tension in my shoulders eased.
But it wasn't enough. Another rumble of thunder rolled through, and I still felt my breath hitch.
"Stay here," Julian said, and then he was gone.
I sat in my chair, counting my breaths, trying to calm down.
Julian returned a few minutes later, carrying something he must have grabbed from his travel bag. He crouched down beside me again, and I saw what he was holding—a pair of noise-canceling headphones.
"Here." He reached up carefully, like he was approaching a skittish horse, and slid the headphones over my ears.
The world went silent.
Not completely—I could still hear the faint patter of rain, the distant hum of the building's ventilation system. But the thunder was gone, muffled into nothingness. Julian pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and suddenly I was hearing something else: the soft, steady sound of rain without the accompanying storm. White noise. Peaceful.
I let out a shaky breath, my hands finally unclenching from where they'd been gripping the edge of my desk.
After a long silence, Julian stayed crouched beside me, only removing the headphones from my left ear. "Better?"
I nodded.
"Good," he said. "The lightning won't last long."
"I'm sorry," I whispered, pulling one side of the headphones away from my ear so I could hear him. "This is stupid. I shouldn't—"
"It's not stupid." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "Fear doesn't make you weak, Nora. It makes you human."
We sat there in silence for a while, the white noise filling the space between us. Eventually, the worst of the storm passed, the thunder fading into the distance until it was just rain—heavy, relentless, but no longer terrifying.
I took off the headphones, handing them back to him. "Thank you."
"Keep them," he said. "You might need them again."
I started to protest, but he cut me off with a look.
"Why are you here so late?"
His mouth curved into a faint smile. "I wanted to see you."
My heart did that stupid fluttering thing again, and I looked away, focusing on my computer screen. "The roads must be dangerous in this weather. You should head back."
"I've only been here fifteen minutes." He glanced at his watch.
I bit my lip, trying to ignore the way my pulse was racing. "I'm just worried about the road conditions."
Julian stood up, and I had to tilt my head back to look at him. There was something in his eyes—something warm and intent that made my breath catch.
"The real danger isn't on the road," he said softly. "It's right here, in front of me."
My face went hot. I spun back toward my computer, my fingers fumbling over the keyboard. "I... I need to finish editing this footage."
I heard him laugh—a low, quiet sound. Then he pulled over the chair from the next desk and sat down beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"Don't let me stop you," he said, his tone infuriatingly casual.
I tried to focus on the screen, but I could feel him watching me, could sense the weight of his attention like a physical thing.
"How did you even get in?" I asked, desperate to fill the silence. "Security here is pretty tight."
"The guard probably thought I didn't look like a threat."
I couldn't help it—I laughed. "Right. A tall Alpha definitely screams 'harmless.'"
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I asked politely. He let me through after I showed my credentials."
I laughed. The convenience of authority.
His gaze flicked to my computer screen, and I saw his eyebrows rise slightly. "Is that from Cold Creek?"
I realized with horror that the footage was still paused on his face—a close-up shot I'd been staring at for far too long. I quickly hit play, my cheeks burning. "Yes. I'm editing it for a segment on environmental justice."
"Sorry for adding to your workload."
"It's fine." I kept my eyes on the screen, refusing to look at him. "It's... important work. And you're paying well."
He didn't comment. He just nodded, his expression thoughtful.
We fell into a comfortable silence after that, broken only by the sound of rain and the occasional click of my mouse. I worked through the footage methodically, trimming clips and adding notes, and Julian just... sat there. Watching. Waiting.
It should have been awkward. It should have made me nervous.
Instead, it felt strangely natural. Like this was something we'd done a hundred times before.
At some point, I glanced at the clock and realized it was past nine.
I turned to him. The exhaustion in his eyes was hard to hide.
"You look tired."
He blinked, like the question had caught him off guard. "I caught a flight this afternoon. Came straight here after arriving in Silverton."
"So you haven't eaten since noon?"