My laugh trips out, breathless. “Specific.”
“I have reason to be,” he says, and though the dimness keeps his face in pieces, I can feel the smile at the corner of it. The smile fades as he adds, quieter, “Last one: we stay in this room.”
“That was always the plan,” I say, and feel the truth of it settle through me like a weight I wanted to carry. The old wood. The candlelight reaching for us. The hush. I am not walking out into the noise dressed like a dare. I am not pretending the street could be kinder than a booth with rules.
“Okay,” he says. “Your move, Kitty.”
The shiver that runs through me is gratitude dressed like desire. I slide my fingers along the lattice until my palm fits against his, the wire a thin, humming distance. “Right there,” I say. “Stay right there until I move.”
“Whatever you need,” he answers, and the word sounds like he’s been practicing it.
The church holds its breath with me. The candle rack fizzes softly. Somewhere, a heating pipe knocks once and goes quiet again. The habit sits on my shoulders like a decision I can unpin later. Right now, I choose this: the mesh marking my skin, his care pressed up against it, permission alive in my mouth.
“After this,” I say, because part of me still wants the edges defined, “we don’t owe each other anything we didn’t promise.”
“After this,” he agrees. “We owe each other exactly what we said.”
I lean closer until the lattice cools my lips, until I can feel the heat of him find my breath and meet it. “Then here are my promises,” I whisper. “I’ll say yes when I mean it. I’ll say sanctuary if I need it. And I’ll demand more when I want it.”
“Here are mine,” he returns, voice low and steady. “I’ll follow your yes. I’ll honor your sanctuary. And I’ll wait for your more.”
Something unclenches deep in my chest. The fear doesn’t vanish. It stands aside for the girl who came here to be real.
“Cayce,” I say, tasting his name the way he tasted mine.
“Caterina.”
“Stay,” I tell him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says.
The old booth creaks as we both inhale. My fingertips tingle, my mouth goes warm, and the world shrinks to wood, breath, and the clean blade of wanting made safe by rules we wrote together.
“Sanctuary,” I murmur—not a stop, a blessing.
“Sanctuary,” he answers, matching my intention.
And then—very slow, very deliberate—we begin.
4
CAYCE
The door stays open.That’s the only rule that matters.
She sits across the screen, veil shadowing her face like a perfect mask for the darkness I can feel calling for her. I keep my hands where she can see them. Palms on the wood. Boring. Safe. I let the silence stretch until it turns into something beautiful.
“Okay?” I ask finally.
“Yes.” Her voice doesn’t wobble. Mine almost does.
It’s astonishing how much of a man you can be when you’re not trying to be a weapon.
“Would you like to tell me what you want?” I ask. “Or do you want me to lead?”
“I want…” She swallows, decides. “I think I want to write the rule and have you follow it.”
“Done.” I mean it. The yes I give her sits heavy and right in my mouth. I’ll defile this little angel but I’ll let her walk her own path to hell.
