“Lark,” Zach said softly, relief washing over his face as he stepped back to let me in.
The room was small and dim, smelling faintly of stale coffee and cleaner that couldn’t quite mask what lingered beneath it. Seeing him again in that space unsettled me more than it had that morning. He looked tired, worn down in ways the boy I remembered never had, but there was something else too. An intensity that made my skin prickle.
“I can’t stay long,” I said as the door shut behind me, the click sounding too loud in the quiet.
His smile faltered, just a fraction. “You always were like that. In motion. Afraid if you stood still, someone would take something from you.”
“That’s not fair,” I said quietly. “We were kids. We were trapped.”
“We loved each other,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t pretend that didn’t mean something.”
“I’m not pretending,” I said. “It meant everything. But my life isn’t that anymore.”
“Because of him,” he said flatly.
I didn’t answer.
That was enough.
“You with him?” he asked. “Really with him?”
“Yes.”
The word surprised me with how solid it felt.
He turned away, pacing the length of the room, running a hand through his hair. “Men like that don’t change, Lark. They take. They leave. They hurt.”
“You don’t know him,” I said, heat creeping into my voice.
“I know the world you ran into,” he shot back. Then his tone softened, dangerous in its familiarity. “You remember us, don’t you? Before everything burned. You trusted me. You needed me.”
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel his breath.
“I remember,” I said carefully. “But remembering doesn’t mean I want to go back.”
His hands came to my waist before I could react, fingers firm, possessive in a way that didn’t feel like comfort.
“What if you don’t have to go back?” he murmured, pulling me close. “What if we just keep going? Pick up where we were cut off?”
“Zach,” I said, my pulse jumping. “Stop.”
He smiled, but there was something off in it now. “You always needed someone to tell you what was safe. I’m the only one who understands where you came from.”
That was when the warning went off.
Sharp. Clear.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I said, pushing against his chest. “And you don’t get to touch me like that.”
I stepped back, reaching for the door.
“I didn’t come here for this,” I said. “I came to tell you I can’t keep secrets. I won’t lie to the man I’m with.”
His expression tightened. “You’re choosing him,” he said.
“Yes, and I won’t lie to him another day,” I replied.
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. I turned the handle—
