The morning mist lingers in the woods, clinging to the air like a soft veil as Nevaeh grips the worn handle of her axe. She's been at it for hours, the rhythmic thunk of steel biting into wood providing a steady beat to the silence of the forest. She moves with precision, each swing deliberate, the strength behind it measured. The tree before her, a massive old pine, groans under the force, but she knows it'll take time before it finally gives way.

Clark stands nearby, watching her with a mixture of awe and quiet admiration. He's been here for a few days now, offering to help with whatever work needs to be done in exchange for a place to stay. It's an unspoken arrangement, one that mirrors the relationship Nevaeh once had with Helga. She'd earned her keep under the older woman's stern guidance, just as Clark is trying to earn his under hers. The difference is, Helga was always cold and blunt, while Nevaeh—well, she's still temperamental, but she's trying to be better. She wants to be better.

The morning air is cool, but the exertion keeps her warm. Sweat beads at her brow, her muscles straining as she brings the axe down again and again. She's in her element here, surrounded by the towering trees, the scent of pine heavy in the air. It's a world that makes sense to her, one where the rules are simple: work hard, survive, and don't let your guard down.

Clark clears his throat, breaking the silence.

"Your name—Nevaeh," He begins, his voice gentle, "it's beautiful. Unique."

Nevaeh doesn't pause in her work, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

"Do you always follow women into the woods like this?" She asks, her tone casual but with an edge to it. She swings the axe again, the blade sinking deep into the tree's bark, "I'm surprised nobody has killed you yet."

Clark chuckles softly, though there's a seriousness to her words that he doesn't miss.

"I'm more careful than I look," He replies, watching the way her muscles flex and shift beneath her skin with each swing, "Besides, I've found that sometimes following someone can lead you to exactly where you need to be."

Nevaeh rolls her eyes, though there's a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

"You must think you're very clever," She mutters, her voice strained from the effort.

The tree is stubborn, its roots deep and strong, but so is she. The axe arcs through the air again, but it's clear the task is testing her patience.

Clark takes a step closer, his hands resting on his hips as he studies the tree.

"Maybe I'm just curious," He says lightly, though his gaze is thoughtful, "Maybe I just want to understand you"

Nevaeh huffs in frustration, pausing to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

"There's not much to understand," She says dismissively, though she knows that's a lie.

Her life is a web of secrets, of history that stretches back farther than she'd care to admit. But she's not about to unload all of that on him—not now, maybe not ever.

Clark, however, is persistent in his quiet way.

"Where does your name come from?" He asks, his tone still gentle, as if he's testing the waters, trying to find a way in.

Nevaeh sighs, her grip tightening on the axe. She doesn't want to be rude, but his questions are starting to grate on her nerves. She's used to silence, to solitude—things that don't require explanations or conversations.

"It's just a name," She says shortly, lifting the axe once more, "It doesn't mean anything."

Clark watches her, sensing the frustration building beneath her calm exterior. He decides to back off, giving her the space she clearly wants. But even as he steps away, his curiosity doesn't fade. There's something about her—something that pulls at him, even if she's determined to keep him at arm's length.

The tree groans again under the weight of her blows, but it's not enough. Nevaeh feels the anger simmering just beneath the surface, a frustration she can't quite place. Maybe it's the way Clark is trying to worm his way into her life, or maybe it's the way this tree refuses to fall. Whatever it is, she's had enough.

With a sharp exhale, she shifts her weight and, instead of swinging the axe, she draws back her leg and delivers a powerful kick to the base of the tree. The force of the blow sends a shockwave up the trunk, the wood splintering as the tree finally gives way. It crashes to the ground with a thunderous noise, shaking the earth beneath their feet.

Nevaeh straightens, her breath coming in heavy pants as she turns to Clark. He's staring at her, wide-eyed, a mix of surprise and admiration on his face. She locks eyes with him, her expression unreadable.

"Take care of this," She says coolly, her voice laced with the authority of someone who's used to giving orders.

Clark nods, a small smile tugging at his lips as he approaches the fallen tree.

"I'll manage," He says, echoing the words he'd spoken earlier, but there's a new determination in his voice now.

Nevaeh doesn't respond, simply turns on her heel and heads back toward the cabin. She's done with this conversation, done with his questions. She needs a break—something to eat, something to clear her mind. She tells herself she's not running away, just retreating for a moment of peace.

As she walks away, Clark watches her go, the corners of his mouth still turned up in that quiet, knowing smile. He sees more in her than she wants to reveal, and he's willing to wait for her to show it. He bends down, grabbing hold of the fallen tree, and lifts it with ease, though he knows that this isn't just about strength. It's about earning her trust, her respect—something he's not going to give up on, no matter how many walls she puts up.

As Nevaeh disappears into the cabin, Clark turns his attention back to the task at hand. He sets to work, breaking down the tree into manageable pieces, his thoughts lingering on the woman inside. She's strong, stronger than anyone he's ever met, but he can see the cracks in her armor—the vulnerability she tries so hard to hide.

And as he works, he can't help but wonder what it will take to reach her, to understand the secrets she guards so fiercely. Because something tells him that whatever she's hiding, it's worth knowing.

Inside the cabin, Nevaeh leans against the door, her heart still racing from the exertion. She presses a hand to her chest, trying to calm herself, to push away the irritation that's bubbling up inside her. She doesn't know why Clark gets under her skin the way he does—why his presence feels like both a challenge and a comfort.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the forest as Nevaeh makes her way down to the river. She's drenched in sweat, her muscles aching pleasantly from the morning's work. The air is thick with the scent of pine and earth, but it's the river's cool, clear water that calls to her now. It promises relief, a moment of peace she desperately needs.

She strips off her clothes with little ceremony, leaving them in a heap on the riverbank. Her white tank top and pants are soaked through with sweat, clinging to her skin in a way that's become uncomfortable. The cool breeze brushes against her bare skin, and she shivers slightly as she wades into the river. The water is cold, shockingly so, but it feels amazing against her overheated body. She sinks down until only her head is above the surface, letting the river's current wash away the grime and tension of the day.

For a few moments, Nevaeh allows herself to relax completely, her eyes drifting shut as she floats in the water. The current tugs gently at her, and the sound of the river flowing around her is soothing. She lets her mind go blank, focusing only on the feel of the cool water against her skin, the way it moves over her, calming her, centering her.

But the peaceful moment is interrupted by a sudden realization: she forgot her towel. Her eyes snap open, and she curses under her breath. She left it back in the cabin, folded neatly on her bed. With a sigh, Nevaeh scans the riverbank and spots Clark moving about near the cabin, still busy with the tree she'd kicked down.

She considers her options for a moment, then calls out, "Clark!"

Her voice echoes across the river, catching his attention immediately. He looks up, spotting her head bobbing above the water.

"Yeah?" He calls back, his voice carrying easily across the distance.

"I forgot my towel," Nevaeh says, a little reluctantly. She's not used to asking for help with anything, least of all something as mundane as this, "Could you grab it for me?"

Clark hesitates for a second, as if processing the request, then nods.

"Sure thing," He replies, and she watches as he jogs back to the cabin.

Nevaeh stays in the water, feeling oddly vulnerable despite being fully submerged. She's not sure why she asked him, of all people, for help. But then again, he's proven himself to be a decent guy—trustworthy, even if he does have a way of getting under her skin.

A few minutes later, Clark returns, a towel in hand. He approaches the riverbank cautiously, his eyes flicking toward the water before quickly looking away.

"Here you go," He says, holding the towel out to the side with his arm fully extended, his back turned toward her.

He's being the perfect gentleman, avoiding even the slightest hint of impropriety.

She moves through the water, the sound of it splashing around her as she gets closer. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against the towel as she takes it from him.

Clark turns around slowly, his gaze meeting hers for a brief moment before he looks away again, giving her space as she steps out of the river. The water drips from her body, the droplets glistening in the evening light as they trail down her skin.

"Thank you," She repeats, this time more firmly, as she secures the towel around herself.

The cool air feels good against her damp skin, but there's an undeniable heat between them that has nothing to do with the temperature.

"You hungry?" Clark asks after a moment, his voice breaking the silence.

It's a simple question, but there's something in the way he says it, a kind of understanding that goes beyond just physical hunger.

Nevaeh's stomach growls in response, and she nods.

"Always," She replies, her tone lightening as she starts to relax again.

There's something comforting about Clark's presence, even if she doesn't want to admit it. He's persistent, sure, but he's also kind, respectful in a way that's rare in her experience.

Clark smiles, the tension between them easing slightly as he turns and heads back toward the cabin.

"I'll make us something," He says over his shoulder, and Nevaeh watches him go, feeling a strange mix of emotions.

There's something about him that's different, something that pulls at her in a way she doesn't quite understand.

She follows him after a moment, still wrapped in the towel, her hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. Inside the cabin, Clark is already busy in the kitchen, moving with a kind of practiced ease as he prepares a meal. Nevaeh leans against the doorframe, watching him quietly, her thoughts a jumble of curiosity and something else—something she hasn't felt in a long time.

The smell of food soon fills the cabin, a welcome distraction from the tension that still lingers between them. Nevaeh takes a seat at the small table, her gaze drifting to the window where the last light of the day is fading into twilight. The river outside is calm now, reflecting the colors of the sky in its surface.

Clark sets a plate in front of her, the food simple but hearty—exactly what she needs after a long day. He sits across from her, his movements unhurried as he digs into his own meal. For a while, they eat in silence, the only sounds the clinking of utensils and the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Nevaeh glances up at him between bites, studying him more closely. There's a quiet strength about him, a steadiness that she finds strangely reassuring. He's different from anyone she's ever known, and that difference is what intrigues her the most.

"So," Clark says after a while, breaking the silence again, "how long have you been out here?"

Nevaeh considers the question, her fork paused halfway to her mouth.

"A while," She answers vaguely, not ready to divulge too much. "Long enough."

Clark nods, as if that answer satisfies him.

"It suits you," He says simply, and she can't tell if he means the solitude or the hard work—or both.

"Does it?" She asks, her tone almost challenging as she sets her fork down.

There's a part of her that wants to push him away, to keep him at a distance where he can't ask questions that might lead to truths she's not ready to share.

Clark meets her gaze evenly, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah," He says after a moment, his voice steady, "It does."

Nevaeh feels a flicker of something in her chest—pride, maybe, or something close to it. She's always been proud of her strength, her ability to survive on her own. But there's also a part of her that's tired, that longs for something more than just survival.

She looks down at her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. The tension is back, thicker now, but she doesn't know how to diffuse it, doesn't know if she even wants to.

Clark nods, understanding in his eyes as he stands as well.

"I'll take care of the dishes," He offers, and she nods in return, grateful for the reprieve.

As she heads to her room, Nevaeh feels the weight of the day settling on her shoulders. The cabin is small, the walls close, but it's not the space that makes her feel confined—it's the presence of the man she's just left behind in the kitchen.

Clark is a mystery, one that she's not sure she wants to solve. But there's no denying that his presence has stirred something in her, something she's not ready to face.

Nevaeh dries off and dresses quickly, pulling on a fresh set of clothes—another simple tank top and a pair of loose pants. The cabin is quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The warmth from the flames washes over her as she walks back into the main room, her damp hair sticking to the back of her neck.

Clark is already seated by the fire, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he stares into the flames. There's a tension in the air, something unspoken hanging between them, and Nevaeh knows it's time to address it. She's been running from her past for so long, burying it deep, but something about Clark—his kindness, his persistence—makes her want to share her story, to let someone else carry a piece of the burden she's been shouldering alone.

She sits down beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, but not so close that they're touching. The proximity is enough to make her feel exposed, vulnerable in a way she hasn't allowed herself to be in years. She's never been good at talking about herself, about her past, but if she's going to do it with anyone, it might as well be him.

"I wasn't always like this," Nevaeh begins, her voice low, almost a whisper. Clark turns his head to look at her, his blue eyes reflecting the firelight as he listens intently. She can feel the weight of his gaze, but she doesn't flinch away from it, "I used to be... someone else. Someone better, I think."

Clark doesn't say anything, just nods slightly, encouraging her to continue.

"I'm not from here," She says, gesturing vaguely toward the cabin, the forest, the world, "I'm not even from this realm. I was born in Asgard—a place where gods and warriors live. A place where strength and honor mean everything."

Her voice catches slightly as she speaks, the memories flooding back, unbidden and painful. Clark's eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't interrupt. He waits, giving her the space to tell her story at her own pace.

"In Asgard, I was a Valkyrie," Nevaeh continues, her tone tinged with bitterness, "A warrior of Odin, one of the fiercest. It was our duty to choose the worthy dead, those who would be brought to Valhalla to fight alongside the gods in the afterlife."

She pauses, her jaw clenching as she remembers the pride she once felt in that role, the honor it was supposed to bring, "But I was cast out. Cursed. I can never go to Valhalla. I'll never know peace, never find the rest that I was promised. My name is a reminder of that."

Hevaen.

The fire crackles loudly in the silence that follows, the sound filling the space between them. Clark's expression is one of shock, but also of deep empathy. He reaches out as if to touch her, but stops himself, his hand hovering in the air before he pulls it back.

"That's why I'm here," Nevaeh says, her voice softening as she stares into the flames, "This place, this world... it's my punishment. A reminder of what I've lost, of what I can never have. And no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I can never go back."

Clark takes a deep breath, his voice gentle when he finally speaks, " That's... that's a lot to carry."

Nevaeh nods, the tension in her chest easing slightly now that the truth is out, but the pain remains, a constant companion.

"It is," She admits.

Clark's gaze doesn't waver as he looks at her, the intensity of his emotions clear in his eyes.

"You're strong," He says, his voice filled with admiration, "Stronger than anyone I've ever met."

Nevaeh scoffs, shaking her head, "I'm not strong. I'm just... surviving. There's a difference."

"Maybe," Clark says, his tone thoughtful, "But surviving takes strength too. It takes courage to keep going when everything is telling you to give up."

There's a sincerity in his words that catches Nevaeh off guard, and for a moment, she allows herself to believe him, to think that maybe, just maybe, she's more than the sum of her past mistakes.

She shifts in her seat, turning to face him more fully.

"What about you?" She asks, her voice quieter now, more introspective, "What's your story?"

Clark hesitates, his gaze dropping to the floor as he gathers his thoughts. When he speaks, his voice is steady, but there's a vulnerability there that mirrors her own.

"I've been different for as long as I can remember," He begins, "I grew up on a farm in Kansas, with two of the best people I've ever known—my parents. They taught me everything—how to be kind, how to be fair, how to use my strength for good."

He pauses, the memories clearly bittersweet, "My dad... he was a hero. Not in the way most people think of heroes, but in the way he lived his life. He always put others first, always did what was right, even when it was hard. He died saving someone else, and I've tried to live up to his example ever since. But..."

Clark's voice trails off, and he looks up at Nevaeh, a deep sadness in his eyes, "I don't know who I am. I don't know where I came from, or why I'm different. But I know this—my heart is here, on this earth. This is where I belong, even if I don't know why."

Nevaeh's breath catches in her throat as she listens, the parallels between their stories striking her more deeply than she expected. Both of them are lost in their own way, searching for something they may never find. But here, in this moment, they've found each other, two souls adrift in a world that doesn't understand them.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting a warm, flickering glow across the room. The flames dance in the low light, their movement hypnotic, a subtle rhythm that seems to sync with the quiet, steady breaths of the two figures seated close by. Nevaeh and Clark sit side by side, close enough that their shoulders almost touch, the space between them charged with an energy that hums just beneath the surface.

Nevaeh can feel the warmth of Clark's body radiating toward her, even though they aren't quite touching. Every inch of her skin is hyper-aware of his presence, of the way his breath hitches ever so slightly as he exhales, of the faint scent of the earth and the outdoors that clings to him. Her senses, honed over centuries of battle and survival, are heightened in this moment, attuned to every nuance, every detail of the man beside her.

Clark's heartbeat is steady, a strong, rhythmic pulse that she can almost feel echoing in her own chest. The sound of it, so close and so human, grounds her in a way she hasn't felt in years. She can hear the subtle shift in his breathing, the way it deepens when he inhales, the soft whoosh of air as it leaves his lungs. It's a sound she finds herself focusing on, her own breathing unconsciously syncing with his, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

She watches him out of the corner of her eye, trying not to be too obvious about it, but she knows he can probably sense her attention just as acutely as she senses his. His blue eyes are fixed on the fire, the flames reflecting in his gaze, but there's a tension in his posture, a tightness in the way his shoulders hold themselves that tells her he's as aware of her as she is of him.

Nevaeh shifts slightly in her seat, the movement almost imperceptible, but it's enough to brush her arm against his for the briefest moment. The contact is electric, a jolt of heat that sparks through her like lightning. She doesn't pull away, but neither does she lean in closer. Instead, she lets the moment stretch out, the tension between them thickening like the air before a storm.

Clark's eyes flicker to her, just for a second, before returning to the fire. But that brief glance is enough to make her heart skip a beat, enough to make her hyper-aware of every detail of his presence—the way his jaw clenches and unclenches as if he's holding back words he doesn't dare speak, the way his fingers curl slightly against his thigh, the knuckles turning white from the pressure.

The firelight plays across his features, highlighting the strong lines of his face, the way his dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, the way his lips press together in a thin line, as if he's struggling to keep something inside. Nevaeh finds herself wondering what he's thinking, what thoughts are running through his mind, what secrets he's keeping behind those intense blue eyes.

The silence between them is thick, charged with an unspoken tension that neither of them seems willing or able to break. It's not an uncomfortable silence, but it's not exactly comfortable either—it's the kind of silence that buzzes with possibilities, with the weight of things left unsaid. Nevaeh can feel it pressing down on her, a heavy, almost tangible presence that makes her chest tighten, her pulse quicken.

Her senses, already heightened, pick up on every small movement Clark makes. The way his throat bobs as he swallows, the subtle shift in his weight as he leans just a fraction of an inch closer to her, the way his fingers twitch slightly as if he's fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. She wonders if he can hear her heartbeat, if he can sense the way her blood thrums in her veins, fast and hot and wild.

Nevaeh's eyes dart to his hands, those strong, capable hands that she knows could crush stone but are currently resting so gently against his thigh. She imagines what it would feel like if he did reach out, if he did touch her—how his skin would feel against hers, how his touch would send fire racing through her veins. The thought sends a shiver down her spine, and she quickly pushes it away, forcing herself to focus on the fire instead.

But even as she tries to distract herself, she can't ignore the way her body reacts to his presence, the way her skin tingles with awareness, the way her breath catches in her throat when he shifts slightly closer. She's never been one to let herself get distracted by emotions, by desires, but there's something about Clark—something about the way he carries himself, the way he looks at her, the way he makes her feel seen, really seen—that makes it hard to keep her guard up.

Clark turns his head slightly, his eyes flicking to hers, and for a moment, their gazes lock. The intensity in his eyes takes her breath away, and she can't look away, can't break the connection. It's as if he's seeing right through her, past all the walls she's built up over the years, past the armor she's wrapped around herself, straight to the core of who she is. It's both terrifying and exhilarating, and she's not sure whether she wants to run away or lean in closer.

The fire crackles louder, a log splitting in the heat, and the sound breaks the moment, allowing Nevaeh to tear her gaze away from his. She blinks, trying to clear her head, trying to regain control of her racing thoughts, her pounding heart. She shifts again, crossing her arms over her chest as if that can somehow shield her from the emotions swirling inside her.

Clark doesn't say anything, but she can feel his gaze on her, a heavy, burning weight that makes her skin prickle with awareness. The silence stretches on, thick and almost unbearable, until finally, she can't take it anymore.

"Do you always sit so close to people you barely know?" She asks, her voice coming out harsher than she intended.

It's a defense mechanism, a way to deflect the intensity of the moment, but she instantly regrets it when she sees the way Clark's expression falters, just for a second, before he covers it up with a small, almost apologetic smile.

"Only when they're as interesting as you," He replies, his voice low and soft, but there's a hint of something else there too—something playful, something that sends another shiver down her spine.

Another silence falls between them, but this time, it's not as suffocating. It's still charged with tension, still thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings, but there's a sense of understanding now, a mutual recognition of the things they're both holding back.

Nevaeh takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, trying to keep her emotions in check. But it's hard, so hard, when Clark is sitting so close, when she can feel the warmth of his body, when she can hear the steady beat of his heart, when she can smell the faint scent of him—earthy, clean, comforting.

She knows she should move away, should put some distance between them before she does something stupid, like lean in closer, like let herself get lost in the warmth of his presence. But she doesn't. Instead, she stays where she is, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter around them, until it feels like something is going to snap.

Clark shifts again, just a tiny movement, but it's enough to brush his knee against hers, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity through her. She sucks in a breath, her heart pounding in her chest, and she knows he can hear it, knows he can sense the effect he's having on her. But he doesn't say anything, doesn't comment on it. He just sits there, silent and steady, a calming presence in the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

For a moment, she considers reaching out, considers closing the small gap between them and letting herself fall into whatever this is, whatever connection they've found in each other. But then the moment passes, and she pulls back, tightening her grip on the edges of her armor, reminding herself that she can't afford to let her guard down, not yet.

Clark seems to sense her retreat, because he leans back slightly, putting just a little more space between them. But the tension remains, a silent promise of something more, something they're both too cautious to fully acknowledge.

They sit like that for a long time, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, the warmth of the flames a counterpoint to the heat simmering between them. Neither of them speaks, neither of them moves, but the connection between them deepens with every passing moment, a bond forged in silence and shared pain, in the unspoken understanding that they're both searching for something they may never find.

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