“Not a fucking chance.”
They file out one by one, Chace still laughing, Sam tossing me a wink, and Logan lingering last. He pauses at the door, hand on the frame.
“She’s safe with you,” he says. It’s not a question.
I nod once. “Yeah. She is.”
He studies me for another beat, then gives that quiet, approving nod that means more than words. “See you downstairs, little brother.”
The door clicks shut. The silence that follows hums with everything unsaid.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The guy looking back isn’t the same one who ran from the tunnels. He’s steadier. I glance at the faint scar along my jaw, the ink coiling across my neck, the shadow in my eyes that time hasn’t erased.
Braden would’ve laughed. He’d call me dramatic. Tell me I was finally becoming who I was supposed to be.
“Yeah,” I mutter to the empty room. “I hope so.”
Then I grab my jacket and head for the door.
The hallway feels different now—quieter, like the walls themselves are holding their breath.
I stop halfway down, pressing my hand against the cool plaster, trying to steady the rhythm in my chest.
It’s ridiculous, really. I’ve stood in front of thousands of people, lights blinding, amps screaming. But this—this stillness before I see her again—has my pulse sprinting like I’m back on stage before the first chord hits.
My fingers twitch against my thigh. I take a breath, then another, trying to shake off the nerves that won’t quit. This isn’t about spotlights or crowds. It’s about her.
Seraphina.
The girl who walked out of a church and straight into the ruins of my soul, like she was meant to rebuild it.
“Get it together, Baker,” I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair.
When I finally lift my hand to knock, I barely get a chance before I hear, “Nobody come in—hot naked action going on!”
I freeze, knuckles hovering mid-air. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of frantic shuffling—feet on wood, a thud, a whispered curse. The door cracks open just an inch, a sliver of light cutting across the hallway.
Mac’s wide blue eyes meet mine, and she sucks in a sharp breath. “Holy shit!” Her grin breaks across her face as she pushes the door open a little farther, looking me up and down. “Trey, you look... wow.”
I shift, tugging at the cuff of my sleeve, heat creeping up my neck.
“Uh, thanks.”
She laughs softly, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“Meet us in the kitchen. The cars’ll be here in five minutes to take us to the city hall. But—” she pauses, glancing over her shoulder before turning back to me, her expression softening—
“I want her to make an entrance. She looks…” Mac trails off, shaking her head with a grin that’s equal parts proud and emotional. “You’re one lucky guy, Baker. Real or fake, this girl is truly something else. I hope you know that.”
The words land heavy and right in the center of my chest.
I swallow hard, my voice low, barely above a whisper.
“I do, Mac. I do.”
Her smile widens, then she closes the door gently, leaving me alone in the quiet again.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the wood grain of the door, willing my heart to slow. Somewhere inside, I hear her laugh and every nerve in me catches fire.
