And now there’s her.
She’s a complication I can’t afford.
But when I close my eyes, I see her lit by flame, every move a question I don’t know how to answer.
I’m not walking away.
Not yet.
CHAPTER 5
KELSEA
Ifind the scarf draped over the back of my chair like it belongs there.
No note. No tag. Just fabric—black as pitch, with the kind of weave that whispers money. Not the flashy kind. Quiet money. Serious money. It's fireproof mesh, the good stuff. The kind you can’t snag from vendors or stitch together in back-alley tailors. This? This came from someone who knows what they’re doing.
I stare at it for a long minute, arms crossed, hip cocked against the dressing table. It’s folded too neatly. Whoever left it meant for me to see it—meant for me toknow.
And I do.
I don’t need a name signed in ink. Only one person’s gaze has ever crawled down my spine like it’s got claws. Only one pair of eyes watched me like he already owned every inch I tried to keep hidden. Him.
My pulse stutters, half panic, half...something else. I grab the scarf too fast, like it might catch fire in my hands. It’s heavier than it looks. Strong. I could hurl it at a wall, set it ablaze in a flame barrel, stomp it flat, and it’d just smirk at me.
Part of me wants to. Throw it out. Pretend I didn’t see it.
Instead, I wrap it around my neck.
The fabric’s cold at first—then warm. Like skin against skin. Like a question I’m not ready to answer.
I tug it tight, right up under my chin. Just a gift. Not a message. Just a gift.
The door creaks open behind me. Ceera slips in, stage paint half-melted down her cheeks, stim clenched in her teeth. She stops mid-step and squints at me.
“You rob a merc, babe?” she asks, tilting her head. “Or did your mystery stalker finally leave a calling card?”
I don’t flinch. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her smile spreads slow and smug. She steps closer, flicking the stim ash into a cup on the counter. “Uh-huh. That thing screams custom weave. Fire-retardant and all? That’s either a lover’s offering or a guilt gift.”
“It’s neither.” I brush past her toward my locker, pretending the air doesn’t thicken every time she looks at me like that.
“So you’re just, what, accepting anonymous fashion donations now?” she asks, trailing behind me. “Come on, Kels. You wear gloom like a perfume, but evenyoudon’t keep gifts you didn’t want.”
I slide the locker open, pretending to rummage. “It’s useful.”
Ceera leans in, eyes glinting like she’s poking a bruise just to see me wince. “Usefulandpretty. Like a certain scaled shadow that keeps orbiting the back row?”
I pause. Just a beat. Enough for her to catch it.
“Ahh,” she sings, triumphant. “Thought so.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” She flops down into the beat-up armchair in the corner like she owns the room. “Look, I’m not judging. Hell, if a man looked at me likethat, I’d be on my back before the lights went down.”
My face heats. “Ceera.”
