The way she clung.
It had scorched him.
Because that kiss wasn’t stolen.
It was offered. Given.
And Gideon had taken it like it belonged to him.
It didn’t.
Gideon’s handshad been on her.
Kissed her. Claimed her.
The memory scalded.
Gideon hadn’t earned her. He couldn’t.
Arden didn’t belongto anyone.
Not unless she was choosing it.
And she hadn’t chosen him yet.
But she would. She had to.
He could seeher so clearly—the strength under her skin, the fire in her bones, the way the world bent around her without even realizing. They dulled her. Softened her.
But he knew better.
He knew what burned beneath the surface. He’d seen the spark in her long before Gideon even felt the heat.
That man was a storm chaser pretending he’d caught lightning.
But Arden wasn’t meant to be captured.
Worshipped.Claimed.
Eventually.
He couldn’t say how long he’d been watching, not in a way that would satisfy the timeline of law or logic, but long enough to know that Arden wasn’t safe with Gideon.
She needed someone who understood her.
Someone who saw past the armor, straight into the war.
Someone who could survive the burn.
He watched the tension build in her posture as she bolted the door. Watched her press trembling fingers to her sternum, as if to quiet the riot inside.
And he admired her.
Even afraid, she didn’t shatter.
She burned.
He stepped back into the shadows, the rain soaking his collar, crawling down his spine like ice.
