Black hoodie, ripped jeans, a look on his face that could start wars. He’s half-lit by the yellow garage lights, shadows cutting sharp angles across his cheekbones. His eyes find mine through the windshield before I can pretend not to notice.
My heart slams once, hard enough to hurt.
The garage hums like it’s holding its breath. The concrete is slick from rain tracked in by the cars, and my headlights flash once before dying.
I step out of my car.
“Magnus?” The name scrapes out of me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He pushes off the wall slowly, all lazy confidence and something darker simmering underneath.
“Nice story,” he says, voice low. “Popcorn, wine, cozy lighting. Very cutesy.”
My stomach twists. “You were watching?”
His smirk sharpens. “You wanted me to.”
I blink, thrown off balance. I mean, he’s right, but I wasn’t expecting him to show up at my fucking house. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”
“Maybe.” He takes a step closer. The sound of his boots echoes against the concrete. “Didn’t you see my message? I don’t know why you think you can fuck around with me, Hale.” He closes in on me, voice rough. “Tell me what happened tonight.”
I feel the air leave my lungs. “It’s none of your business.”
His eyes flick over me, slow, deliberate. “Did he kiss you?”
I grit my teeth. “How do you even know where I live?”
Magnus smiles—no warmth in it. “I asked around. And of course I saw that skyline in your story. Easy to find once you’ve stared at it long enough.”
The hair at the back of my neck stands on end. “That’s insane. You’re a stalker.”
He steps closer again. “Or maybe I just notice details.”
The space between us shrinks. The air feels charged, heavy with the kind of energy that comes right before lightning strikes.
“Answer me,” he says, quieter now. “Did Thorn kiss you?”
“You have no right to?—”
“Answer me.”
His tone isn’t loud, but it cuts straight through me. There’s no room to hide. My back hits my car door with a dull thud. The cold seeps through the fabric of my hoodie, sharp against the heat building in my chest.
“Stop,” I say, but it sounds weak even to me.
He moves closer, just enough that I can feel the heat of him, but he doesn’t touch me. Not yet. His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “You let him kiss you, didn’t you?”
I look away. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
He exhales a short laugh, more like disbelief than amusement. “You keep saying that, but here you are—still standing, still listening.”
“Because you cornered me,” I snap.
“And you haven’t walked away,” he says.
My pulse is loud in my ears. I can feel its truth like a bruise. He’s too close, too intense, too aware of how much space he takes up in my head.
“Would you even let me?” I say, trying to make my voice steady.
