And even though I’m prepared, so prepared, questions on the very tip of my tongue… I also become distracted. Because when Kane enters the atrium, there are two distinct differences.
One: the grey lines once tarnishing his skin have all but gone.
But then there’s the most noticeable difference, the one that has my stomach twisting, questions no longer present—not a single semblance of a questioning word in my mind—because what is hewearing?
Since I’d met Kane, he’d only ever worn two outfits. A formal dark suit, jacket on and off, or his enforcer uniform consisting of a tight compression top, chest plate, combat pants and boots. Both of which—I won’t even try to deny—looked incredible on him.
But this.
This.
My eyes can’t help but trace over the soft, oversized, hoodie he’s wearing. With matching black joggers—which I have to drag my gaze from—and trainers.
And hishair.
I turn away, bite my knuckle, curse internally.
What is this? Some sick and twisted joke? Does he haveanyidea how good he looks right now? With his silky, black—unstyled—hair. In thosesoftclothes. Looking so relaxed and carefree and—
“I brought you something to eat.”
Andhe’s brought me food?
My teeth tighten, biting into the bone harder as I scrape all my haywire composure together.
It’s just clothes. It’s just hair. It’s just food.
I inhale sharply through my nose, dropping my hand, and turn to face him.
But his eyes are the killing blow.
There’s no furrow, no harsh line, his gaze seems so… wary.Again. Filled with wisps of grey as they track the features of my face before lowering back to my eyes.
Then he lifts his hand, revealing a large thermos in his grip. “It’s soup.”
“This is so unfair.” I shut my eyes the moment the words leave. That wasn’t meant to be said aloud.
“What is?” Now his brows furrow, but they’re slightly obscured by a soft piece of hair. I so desperately want to reach out and brush it back—
“This,” I say with urgent frustration, waving a hand over him. “You with your comfy clothes and your soft eyes and—and soup!” Then I throw both hands up in the air.
“Soft... eyes?” he repeats, slow and confused, like the words are foreign.
“Yeah.” I shake my head, staring at the thermos. “Yesterday, you caught me off guard with the whole immortality thing and your… past. But today, I was ready. Prepared. I had all these questions and then you…”
I slowly realise how crazy this sounds.
What exactlyis my problem?That he isn’t dressed the same?
I look back at him. He’s still completely confused. He has no idea what I’m on about or what my problem is. He places the thermos onto the planting table beside us, then slips one hand into the large pocket at the front of his hoodie—
“I want that hoodie so badly.”My eyes shoot wide open.
No.
No. I didnotjust let that thought—
“Have it.” He’s already grabbing the hem with one hand, beginning to tug it up when I quickly step forwards.
