When she turns toward the sound, I step back into the dark, just far enough for her to doubt her own eyes.
The mask gleams once in the moonlight before the fog swallows it whole.
In the darkness,I wait until her bedroom light shuts off. My heart thuds, anticipation curling through my veins. Patience isn’t a virtue tonight—it’s a restraint I can barely hold on to.
My hand slides into the pocket of my jeans, curling around the smooth metal. The key I shouldn’t have. The spare my fatherkeptjust in case, back when he and Malcolm Voss still pretended they were friends.
I shouldn’t use it.
But the part of me that still believes in control is whispering quieter than the part that just needs toseeher.
The moonlight cuts between the trees, throwing silver through the fog, right across her porch door. A sign.
My boots sink into the damp earth as I climb the stairs. The key slides into the lock. The click is quiet, perfect, and too easy.
I step inside.
The air smells like her—honey and something floral, faint beneath the sharp tang of wood polish. It fills my lungs until it feels like oxygen is running out.
The house hums in low, living sounds—the fridge cycling, floorboards settling, the faint laugh track of the TV upstairs. She must’ve left it on for noise.
Or maybe she’s afraid of the dark.
I toe off my boots, leaving them by the door.
The nightlights cast thin gold halos across the walls, lighting my way to her.
Each step creaks if I breathe too hard, so I don’t.
I move through the house like I belong there—past her coat, her coffee mug still on the counter, the faint outline of her hand where she wiped condensation from the window.
Every trace of her is a map. Every detail, a temptation.
I head upstairs, stepping carefully. Soundlessly.
When I reach her doorway, I pause.
The glow of the TV softens everything—her bed, her hair spilling across the pillow, the faint rise and fall of her chest.
Peaceful. Vulnerable. Completely unaware.
My throat tightens.
This close, I can hear the rhythm of her breathing. The sound threads through me, pulling me forward one careful step at a time.
I stop beside her bed, the mask hiding everything but the part of me that’s coming undone.
For a second, I hover—watching her, memorizing her.
She stirs, lashes fluttering, a soft sigh leaving her lips.
And I almost leave.
Almost.
I exhale when she stills, her eyes remaining closed.
My hand moves before my mind does. I reach out and brush a lock of hair away from her face. The strand sticks to my skin, silk catching on callus. Her skin is warm beneath it. Real.
