And then, Marco barked from the back.
“You two done smoldering over there, or should I dim the lights and set the mood?”
Arden laughed, shaking her head, but the moment didn’t fully break. Not when she caught the way Gideon’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. The kind of tension that didn’t shout; it simmered.
“Come on,” he said, voice lower now. “I’ll walk you.”
She hesitated, not out of doubt, but because she was learning how to allow someone to offer care in small, quiet ways. Someone showing up to keep her safe. She nodded, shrugged into her jacket, and followed him out into the dark.
?
The city hadn’t quite gone quiet, but it was close. As they walked, Manhattan’s noise faded to a blur. Snippets of conversation floated from nearby patios. Headlights cast fleeting shadows along the damp street. A lone car horn split their easy silence now and then.
But the deeper they moved into the dark, the more the quiet thickened—restless. The kind of stillness that made you listen a little harder, even if you didn’t know why.
They walked in step, their pace unhurried.
Arden’s car was parked several blocks away, which was typical for nights when luck didn’t grant her a nearby spot. She’d grown accustomed to it. The inconvenience. The long walks.
But tonight, the distance felt different. Like space drawn tight. Their steps slapped the concrete like punctuation marks.
The rain hadn’t left; it clung to the asphalt in a hush of petrichor and streetlight, like the city was biting back a warning.
And then Arden stopped cold. Her chest seized.
Gideon noticed the shift before she could speak. “Arden?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared.
Her car stood half a block ahead.
Or what was left of it.
The windows were gone. Every single one—blown out, jagged glass clinging to the frames like teeth.
The windshield was spiderwebbed with cracks, its surface dusted in red.
Not a rose—petals. Torn. Ruined.
Strewn across the shattered glass like confetti at a funeral. Some clung to the cracks. Others had drifted to the sidewalk.
And there, at the base of the front tire, was the stem. Half-crushed. Split down the middle. The green gone pale where it had been torn apart.
This wasn’t the same careful message left on her doorstep or tucked near her car before. This was anger. Escalation.
She curled her hands into fists, the bite of her nails grounding her in the moment.
Months ago, this would’ve undone her. Left her gutted. Hollow. Shaking.
Now she was furious.
A hand touched the small of her back, steady and grounding.
Gideon.
He stepped forward without a word, surveying the damage with deadly composure. His breathing stayed measured, too even, like he was one breath from detonating.
Then he ground his heel into the stem.
