[center][h2][color=#3366CC]ᚠᚢᚦ [b]Aksel[/b] ᚱᚴᚾ[/color][/h2][/center]

	Aksel closed the door gently and took a few longer strides to catch up to Anastasiya. She was already seated, ordering multiple beverages, as he settled onto the stool beside her.

	[i]I’m not made of money,[/i] he thought. Then he shrugged the thought aside. Today, money was the least of his concerns.

	He sat there quietly, trying to enjoy a moment of peace and company after the madness that had just entangled their whole crew of fuckups. Unfortunately, that odd feeling hadn’t subsided. It seemed fluid—shifting again now that he was back in a space with other people. Having gone from the group, to being alone with her, and now back to the group again, he had more data to compare. He also noted that when he held her in his arms—or shook her hand to seal the deal—the connection was more intense. More defined.

	Looking back, he realized he had noticed her relief when she thanked him and visibly relaxed in his arms.  
It felt like a deep exhale. Then it shifted—uncertainty, realization, resignation—as she tried to move and gave in to being carried.  
And when she nearly collapsed… there was a reflex. A need. A crazed, instinctive urge to stabilize her. As if his own balance depended on it.

	The whole last hour or so had been one strange thing after another. But the strangest part? The more he accepted this weird feeling—listened to it—the more clearly he seemed to pick up on what someone was feeling. With near certainty. Maybe he didn’t have to rely on educated guesses anymore. Maybe he could just feel someone out.

	[i]Literally.[/i]