And so had she.
She'd been clawing her way back long before I met her.
I saw her through the doorway before she stepped out, hair pinned up but unraveling, wisps curling around her neck. Her dress was clean but worn, mended so many times the seams told stories. Her shoes were scuffed, too thin for the streets she walked. But she had a glow tonight. A softness at the edges of her exhaustion. One strand of hair fell across her cheek, and she brushed itback with a tired, delicate motion that made my chest ache.
She stepped out of the doorway, blinked into the lantern light… and then saw me. Her whole face changed.
Her smile was small at first, surprised, shy, blooming slow enough to break me wide open. Then it brightened into something warm and tender, the kind of smile a man would spend his life trying to earn again.
That was it.
That smile did me in.
She didn't run. She didn't flinch. She didn't cling to fear the way so many people did in this broken city. She just looked at me like I was someone she wanted to see. Something inside me surged forward without permission, dragon, man, or both, I didn't know. I stepped into her space, slid an arm around her waist, and lifted her effortlessly, her feet leaving the cobblestones as if she weighed nothing at all.
She gasped, just faintly, her hands flying to my shoulders. And then, I kissed her. Not rushed. Not hungry. Not claiming.
Tender.
God, so tender it almost hurt.
Her lips were soft, warm, tasting faintly of chocolate from the bar, faintly of something sweet and innocent I didn't have a name for. Her breath trembled againstmine, and when she melted into the kiss—full-body, trusting, yielding—I knew instantly, instinctively: She'd never been kissed before.
The realization undid me.
My hands shook where they held her. My heart hammered against my ribs. The dragon inside me purred—a low, molten rumble that spread through my bones—not violent, not feral, but… content. At peace. Something I'd never felt.
When the kiss finally broke, she stayed close, her forehead brushing mine, her breath soft against my cheek.
"That was…" She laughed quietly, breathlessly. "That was the best thing that has happened to me in… a very long time."
Her eyes were luminous in the lantern glow. I set her down slowly, reluctantly. She smoothed her dress, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and her cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of rose I'd ever seen.
"Careful, fly boy," she teased softly, "I'm starting to get used to you picking me up."
I swallowed. Hard.
"I'll pick you up for the rest of your life," I said before I could stop myself, "if you let me."
Her breath caught. The lantern flickered between us like a heartbeat. People didn't kiss in public like this in Berlin, at least not decent people, not in front of a bar, not whenpropriety still clung to the world like a ghost of the old days. A pair of older women passing by paused, whispering in German I couldn't fully catch, but their tone said everything: scandalous, reckless, young, foolish, hopeful.
Inga's fingers brushed mine—just a whisper of touch—but my entire body lit up like a struck match. The air didn't smell like ash anymore. Not around her. Deep down in the marrow of my bones, in the quiet of my dragon's breath, I knew. My father had been right: When a man knows, he knows.
She was the one.
This wasn't the right place.
This wasn't the right time.
Berlin was broken, starving, dangerous.
I hadn't told her the biggest truth about myself.
But none of that mattered. Because when she smiled at me like that—small, hopeful, a little shy, a little daring—the world narrowed to her breath on my lips and the warmth of her hand still brushing my fingertips. My heart made the decision before my mind even caught up.
One moment, I was standing in front of her, still tasting her sweetness on my mouth. The next, I was dropping to one knee on the cobblestones.
Her breath hitched—a soft, startled sound—as I pulled the velvet box from my pocket. The lantern above usflickered, casting gold over her face as she clasped both hands to her mouth.
