I look up at him. Wind-tossed hair. Sweat at his temples. Eyes lit with pride he doesn’t bother to hide. A man who’s only known me for two hours—but somehow sees straight through the walls I lived behind for three years.
Before my nerves can catch up, I grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him toward me.
The kiss hits like a flare igniting—hotter, deeper, molten.
No hesitation this time.
No shock.
Just want.
Strong enough to steal the breath from both of us.
He growls—low and feral, the kind of sound that vibrates straight through my bones—and then his mouth crashes into mine. Not gentle.
Not careful.
Hungry.
His fingers fist in my hair, tugging just hard enough to rip a breathless gasp from my throat. The other hand clamps at my lower back, dragging me flush against him, holding me in place while he devours me like he’s been starving for this from the moment I first touched him.
Heat floods every nerve. I rise into him instinctively, opening for him, chasing every brush of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth.
I’m not shy, not hesitant—I take what I want, take him, because this man pulled me through fire and fear and somehow lit something deeper inside me in the process.
He answers that hunger with more—deeper, harder—his mouth claiming mine like he’s mapping me, memorizing me.
His teeth catch my lower lip, a deliberate bite that sends a sharp, hot shock spiraling down my spine. He kisses me like he’d devour the whole moment—devour me—if we weren’t on borrowed time.
When we finally tear apart for air, our breaths crash between us—ragged, uneven—like we just hauled ourselves through flames and came out burning.
“We should—” he starts, voice rough enough to scrape.
“Get to the tower,” I breathe, lips still brushing his. I let my fingers trail down his chest, a promise more than a touch. “But later…”
The look he gives me says he’s already imagining exactly what later means.
"Later," he agrees, and helps me to my feet.
The fire watch tower looms out of the darkness, a wooden structure on stilts that looks like it'll collapse in a strong wind. But when we climb the ladder—me first, him below to catch me if I fall—the inside is clean and well-maintained. Solar battery bank, water filtration system, shelf of MREs, basic medical supplies.
A single sleeping bag, rolled in the corner.
FIVE
Savannah
"Home sweet bolt hole,"he says, lighting a camping lantern.
The space is twelve-by-twelve, with windows on all sides, giving a 360-degree view of the mountains. There's a small table, two chairs that have seen better days, a camp stove, and that single sleeping bag that suddenly seems very prominent.
"You can have the sleeping bag," he says, not looking at me. "I'll keep watch."
"You need sleep too."
"I don't sleep much. Occupational hazard." He's already checking window sightlines, cataloging approaches, and shifting into sentry mode.
I set up my laptop on the small table to work and process the Prometheus data while my brain still functions.
