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She didn’t have to.
Soon, he thought, finishing his drink.
When she left,he followed.
Not close.
Not careless.
Just enough.
The night wrapped around him.
The hallway outside her apartment buzzed with a flickering, sickly light.
The air vibrated, alive and expectant.
And there,at herdoor.
A rose.
Crimson.
Rain-kissed.
Perfect.
Placed not as a gift.
As a sign.
Little Fire.
Perfect.
Fierce.
Chosen.
He pictured the way her fingers would reach.
The breath she’d catch.
How it would settle inside her.
That knowing.
This wasn’t coincidence.
This was craft.
A thread pulling tighter with every beat.
She hadn’t unraveled it yet.
But she would.
He lingered too long.
