“Finn.”
Malrik’s voice cuts through the spiral. Steady. Present.
I blink. Realize my chaos magic is sparking visibly now, little crackles of light dancing across my skin.
“Sorry,” I manage. “I’m just—”
“I know.” He does. He always does. His hand settles on my shoulder, grounding. “Go to her.”
Not a command. Permission.
I don’t hesitate.
I close the distance between me and Kaia, and for a heartbeat we just look at each other. Her violet eyes. My green ones. All thehistory between us—the first day we met, the moments we stole, the almost-kisses and interrupted touches and the way I’ve been in love with her since before I knew what to call it.
“Hey, Trouble.”
“Hey, chaos boy.”
My hand shakes when I lift it to her face.
She notices. Of course she notices.
“Finn—”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “I’m great. I’m fantastic. I’m about to kiss you properly for the first time in months and I’m definitely not having a minor emotional crisis about it.”
Her lips twitch. “Minor?”
“Okay, moderate. Significant. Potentially catastrophic.” I lean closer, my forehead nearly touching hers. “Please shut me up.”
She kisses me first.
And everything else dissolves.
Her mouth is soft and warm and tastes like the spring water, and I make another embarrassing sound against her lips because I can’t fucking help it. I’ve wanted this so badly for so long that actually having it feels like a fever dream, like I’m going to wake up any second and find out none of this was real.
But her hands are real on my shoulders. Her body is real against mine under the water. The little moan she makes when I finally,finallylet myself kiss her the way I’ve been imagining—
That’s definitely real.
Malrik’s hand settles on my lower back. Warm. Grounding. Reminding me he’s still here. Still part of this.
I break the kiss just long enough to gasp for air, and Kaia makes a sound of protest that goes straight to my cock.
“Eager,” I manage.
“You’re one to talk.” She’s breathless. Pink-cheeked. Absolutely devastating. “You’ve been looking at me like that for months.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re starving.”
I laugh—raw, honest. “Because I am. Have been. For a really fucking long time, Trouble.”
“Then stop talking,” she says, “and do something about it.”
Gods, yes.
