But promises don’t cancel instinct.
And my instinct is loud right now.
End this.
Now.
Don’t let her pay the price for your war.
Lark steps closer, her boots soft on the rug. She reaches up and cups my jaw, thumb grazing the corner of my mouth. “You’re doing the thing,” she says.
“What thing?”
“The one where your brain goes somewhere dangerous,” she replies. “And you try to pretend you’re still here.”
I catch her wrist gently. “I’m here.”
“Half,” she counters.
I should lie.
I don’t.
“I don’t like this,” I admit quietly. “You being on a board like a prize.”
Her face softens. “I’m not a prize,” she says. “I’m a problem.”
“Yeah,” I say, a reluctant smile tugging at my mouth. “You are.”
She leans in and kisses me.
Slow.
Grounding.
Not the kind of kiss that tries to erase fear—more like the kind that sayswe can carry it together.
I let it happen for about three seconds before my restraint snaps like cheap code.
I pull her closer by the waist, lifting her onto the counter with a little stunned gasp. Her legs bracket my hips, boots knocking softly against the cabinet doors.
“Knight—”
“Yeah,” I murmur against her mouth.
Her hands slide into my hair, nails scraping my scalp in a way that rewires my entire nervous system.
I kiss her harder.
Hungrier.
Like the road and the cabin and the crash and the ugly hotel room were all just foreplay for the relief of having her alive in my arms.
She makes a sound—half laugh, half sigh—and I feel it everywhere.
“Are we allowed to be this turned on while being actively hunted?” she breathes.
“Probably not,” I say.
