He steps closer. Just one step. Close enough that I feel the heat off his body. That inhuman stillness. That hunger.
“We’re both lost,” he says. “But at least we’re lost in the same direction.”
The world shrinks to him. To this rooftop. To the sharp ache in my chest and the sting behind my eyes. His hand lifts—slow, careful. He brushes a strand of hair frommy face, fingers skimming my jaw. The touch is featherlight. Reverent.
I don’t move.
“Temporary truce,” I manage to say. “Silence. Just… until I figure this out.”
He leans in, lips a breath from mine.
"Fine," he murmurs. "But when you're done pretending this isn't fate—I'll still be here."
My body betrays me. I lean into him—just barely—but it’s enough.
The bond flares. I feel it. So does he. Our breathing syncs. My skin buzzes with want. With fire. With something worse than lust—need.
If he kisses me now, I won't stop him.
But he doesn't. He steps back. Lets me go. And that restraint? That self-control? Itundoesme more than any kiss ever could.
I thought I came for clarity. But the closer I get to him, the more I forget who I’m supposed to be.
Rheon
Chains and Temptation
I should’ve left Seoul. That was the agreement — a quiet retreat into the shadows until this thing between us faded. Until she could pretend none of it ever happened.
But I couldn’t stay away. Not after the rooftop.
Not after the way she looked at me — like I was a threat she didn’t want to kill, like I was the answer to a question she wasn’t ready to ask.
She didn’t kiss me. She almost did.
That kind of almost sinks teeth in deeper than a yes ever could.
“Temporary truce,” she said.
"Fine, but when you're done pretending this isn't fate—I'll still be here."
I answered. And she’d left.
But not before the mark on her hand glowed when mine did. Not before her eyes betrayed how much she wanted to stay. I was tracking remnants of a cult cell — whispers of blood offerings in the alleys near Gyeongdong Market. Human bodies drained dry. The kind of ritual that left a stink in the air days after it ended.
Too quiet. No witnesses. No screams. Only blood, still warm, in a perfect circle behind an apothecary dumpster.
And then I saw it. A symbol scratched into the pavement. Ancient. Not demonic —hunter-made.Warding seal. Sloppy, but meant to stun.
I turned too late.
The first bolt hit my ribs — cold, blessed steel. It hissed against my skin like acid.
The second? Right through my thigh. Crippling. Meant to slow. Not kill.
They wanted me alive.
Six enforcers moved in through the alley fog, cloaked in Guild glamours. Fast. Coordinated.
