Something flickers in Wes’s eyes. Not challenge. Not jealousy.
Recognition.
"You're not afraid of me," he says, and there's wonder in his voice.
"Should I be?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with implications I'm not sure either of us is ready to name. But I don't take it back. Don't look away.
Because the truth is, I'm not afraid. If anything, I feel... drawn. Like there's something in him calling to something in me, and I've spent years pretending not to hear it.
The hunger doesn't disappear from his eyes. But it shifts. Becomes something softer. More human.
"Gray," he starts, voice rough with emotion.
I don't know what he's going to say. Don't get the chance to find out.
Because suddenly he's moving, closing the distance between us with desperate urgency. His mouth finds mine—fast, intense, not practiced or polished. Just need made real.
The kiss is electric. Not in the cheesy, romance novel way. In the way that makes my vision go white at the edges, makes something deep in my chest roar with satisfaction. Like puzzle pieces clicking into place. Like coming home.
He pulls back almost immediately, eyes wide with panic.
"I'm sorry—fuck—I shouldn't have—"
"Hey." I catch his wrist gently, anchor him before he can spiral. "You're not the only one trying to figure it out."
The words surprise me as much as they seem to surprise him. But they're true. Whatever this is—this pull between us, this awareness that's been building since the crown changed everything—I'm feelingit too.
"I don't know what I'm doing," Wes admits, his voice small.
"Neither do I." I brush my thumb over his wrist, feeling his pulse race under my touch. "But I know you're not broken. And I know you don't have to figure it out alone."
Something in his expression cracks open. Relief, maybe. Because he finally heard me this time.
The hunger is still there—I can feel it radiating from his skin like heat. But it's different now. Acknowledged instead of denied. Shared instead of hidden.
"What happens now?" he asks.
I don't have an answer for that. Don't know what any of this means or where it leads. All I know is that sitting here with him feels right in a way nothing has since Bree disappeared.
"Now we go back," I say finally. "And we figure out how to help her. Together."
Wes nods slowly, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders. When he stands, I follow, and for a moment we just look at each other in the dim hallway.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
I want to tell him he doesn't need to thank me. Want to explain that I'd do it again in a heartbeat, that something in me wants to keep doing it until he never feels empty again.
Instead, I just nod.
Because some things don't need words yet.
Some things just need time.
Chapter 13
Bree
