“Yeah. It’s… good.” I clear my throat. “Thanks.”
He nods once, like that settles something. “I wasn’t sure if you’d keep it.”
“I almost didn’t.” I don’t know why I admit that.
Roja just watches me, patient. Like he’s used to waiting for answers people don’t want to give.
“I didn’t know what it meant,” I murmur.
He shrugs one massive shoulder. “Didn’t mean anything. Just something useful.”
Another lie.
The silence between us hums. Heavy. Weighted. Like all the air knows how close we are to something real. Something dangerous.
“You been watching me?” I ask, the words sharper than I mean them to be.
“No.”
My brows lift. “No?”
“I’ve been looking,” he corrects. “Different.”
My throat tightens.
He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t. Just shifts his stance like something under his skin itches and he can’t scratch it.
“I don’t—” I start, then stop. I don’t know what I don’t. What I do. I just know standing this close to him has me sweating through the scarf.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.”
We don’t talk after that. We just… stand there. Breathing. Sharing space. Until someone bumps into my side and reality breaks the moment like glass.
When I glance back, Roja’s already walking away. No words. No goodbye.
But the fire in my chest doesn’t leave.
That night, I dream.
It’s not the usual flashes of fleeing, the panic-choked ones I always get when my guard drops. No shadows chasing me. No knives behind smiles.
Just him.
Roja.
We’re somewhere dark. Not a place I know. Just shadow and shape and a bed that smells like ash and pine.
He’s above me, skin like heat, hands braced on either side of my head. The red of his eyes glows soft, almost molten, as he leans down and brushes his mouth against mine—not soft, not sweet. Hungry. Possessive. Like he’s tasting something he’s been starved for.
I arch beneath him, the scarf still around my throat, pulled taut between us like a tether. His claws drag down my hips—barely there, a whisper against skin—but it sets every nerve alight like he’s slicing open something buried deep.
“You’re not running this time,” he growls.
I shake my head, breathless. “No.”
His mouth descends again, not kissing, devouring. Teeth graze my neck, and I moan, helpless. It’s raw. It’s messy. It’srealin a way nothing in my life has ever been. His tongue traces fire up my collarbone, and I dig my nails into his shoulders, desperate to anchor myself.
The world tilts.
