Maisie felt itbefore she could name it. A warmth unfurling under her skin, slow as morning light creeping through shutters after a night too long. Felix’s mouth moved against hers—steady, tender—less a kiss than a vow whispered in touch. Her hand found his shoulder, fingers clenching in the damp wool of his coat. He steadied her, solid, unyielding. Somehow, she exhaled and her lungs let go of the fear.
He drew back only enough to see her. His voice scraped low. “I’m not afraid anymore. With you, I can be Faivish Blattner or Felix Leafley and still face whatever hunts me.”
Her lips pulled into a shaky smile. “Nor am I. But I must be what John needs.”
The carriage swayed, rain smearing the glass. Inside, there was only heat, breath, the thud of his heart close to hers. He was kneeling still, hair plastered in damp curls, collar skewed, jaw roughened. She had never loved him more because he was here. Now.
Her fingers tugged carefully at the top button of his coat.
“You’re drenched,” she murmured. “You’ll fall ill.”
His mouth tilted. “Scolding me again, Fräulein Morgenschein?”
Her laugh slipped out, soft, frayed at the edges. His joined it. The sound curled between them.
She pulled at his lapel. “Come sit.”
He groaned as he rose, knees stiff from the floor, and sank beside her. Their legs touched. She did not move.
The silence stretched—fragile, humming.
“I’ve changed,” she said at last, her voice a hush. “I’ve seen cruelties I couldn’t have dreamed of.”
“So have I.” He caught her hand, rough warmth closing over her fingers. “But the part that loved you then never left.”
Her throat tightened. “Have you ever—” She faltered. “Other women?”
His head snapped toward her. “No.” The word fierce, raw. “Never.”
Her chest shook. “I used to think that if I saw you again, I would fall apart.”
The thought broke something open. She kissed him again, hard, almost desperate. Her hands in his wet curls.
He gathered her in, arms locked firm around her waist, his mouth tracing her temple, cheek, the hollow below her ear where her pulse stumbled fast.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered, rubbing her arms.
Her breath came unsteady. “Not from cold.”
The heat rose—sharp, reverent. Earned. She lifted her gaze. “If we do this…”
His eyes didn’t waver. “Then no lies. No shadows. Only us.”
Her heart hammered. “I want you.”
“You have me. Always.”
Their mouths met again, slower, searching. His hands curved at her waist. She leaned closer, relearning the shape of him in touch, in breath.
When the carriage lurched to a stop, neither moved.
His arms stayed wrapped around her. Her head rested against the warm bend of his shoulder, their legs intertwined. She allowed herself to believe in safety.
Outside, the rain had gentled, no more than a hush against the glass. Inside, their breath lingered in the space between them. She tilted her head. His eyes were closed, though he wasn’t sleeping. His thumb moved in slow circles against her back, absent, steady.
“I thought I’d forgotten what it felt like,” she whispered.
His eyes opened. “What?”
