I lean in, voice softer. “Maybe you don’t needmyprotection. But you needsomeone’s. And I’m not going away.”
She breathes in—long. Eyes fiery, voice a whisper: “Then step back until I ask.”
The words sting, but I don’t flinch.
“Fine,” I say, quiet. “But I’ll be here. Always.”
We stand there, two warriors at emotional standoff. No kisses. No touches. Just fury and something unspoken—trust? Fear? Need? I can’t name it.
And then she turns sharply and stalks away, shoulders straight, chin lifted.
The corridor echoes with her departure. I stand still, chest tight, burning.
I didn’t push her away. I didn’t move closer.
We both know it was a confrontation that changed us. Not a kiss this time—but a boundary set in blood and silence.
And sometimes that’s more powerful than any taste of lips.
The night air hits me like ice, sharp and unforgiving. My earpiece crackles with static—my tracker blinking frantic red.Her hovercar… ambush.I curse under my breath, my suit sleeves soaking up the rain that’s already begun to hiss.
I arrive to chaos.
A flicker of flame, the stench of ozone, and twisted metal—a hovercar flipped on its roof, lights sputtering like wounded fireflies. My world slows.
By the wreck, two figures lie broken. One still. One moaning.
Aria's face—blood-smeared, rain-streaked—is the only thing that cuts the world in half.
I’m on her before I realize I’m moving. Hands ripping the door open, arms shaking with something raw and rabid underneath the calm. I lift her out, skin slick with blood and rain.
My fingertips find her pulse—it’s weak, butthere. Alive.
I carry her to a dry patch of burnt asphalt, rain sizzling back off the scorched surface. Her hair sticks to her cheek, lips trembling.
“Stay with me,” I growl, voice a low rumble. My other hand grips the wreckage; I should be furious at whoever sent that bomb—should be plotting blood and revenge. But all Ifeelis her.
She coughs, clammy breath fogging the space between us. Her eyes—those damned emeralds—meet mine, unblinking.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Like she’s seeing the storm behind my calm. The animal beneath the gentleman. The man unraveling.
“Why?” she murmurs, voice ragged.
I press my hand to her ribs, chest tight. I taste blood in the air. Scent of rain and burning wire.
“Because I’m here,” I rasp.
She coughs again, then reaches for my cuff. Her fingers squeeze tight—harder than anything else tonight.
“You… saved me,” she whispers.
I swallow the urge to kiss the pain from her. Instead I grip her shoulders.
“Always,” I say. Rage curls in me—the drone’s fizzing remnants, the cost in lives. But deeper than that is fear. Fear that Ican'tprotect her enough.
