She’s the one who moves first.
Kayla lifts her head, fingers still curled in my shirt, and I feel the shift immediately – the moment where instinct gives way to awareness. Her mouth curves, soft this time, affectionate in a way that hits me harder than the heat ever did.
“We need to go,” she murmurs.
I don’t let her pull back.
My hand stays firm at her waist, thumb pressing like I can anchor time if I hold her hard enough. Leaving her again – even for minutes – sets my teeth on edge. I just got her back. The thought of space between us feels like inviting fate to take another swing.
“They’ll notice,” she adds, quieter now. “If we don’t.”
I huff a breath through my nose, jaw tight. She watches me like she knows exactly what war is playing out in my head. Of course she does. She always reads me better than anyone else ever has.
She leans in before I can argue and kisses me.
Not desperate. Not hungry.
Sure.
Her mouth presses to mine with a promise baked right into it, slow and grounding, like she’s sealing something in place instead of taking it away. My grip tightens reflexively, but she just hums softly and kisses me again, longer this time, coaxing instead of challenging.
“I’m fine,” she whispers against my lips. “I swear. Go. I’ll be right behind you.”
I search her face – really look this time. No fear. No fracture. Just that familiar, infuriating calm she gets when she’s already decided how this ends.
“You’ll see me in a minute,” she adds, brushing her thumb along my jaw. “Scout’s honour.”
That earns a low breath of a laugh from me despite myself.
Reluctantly, I ease my hold. Not fully. Never fully. My hands slide down her arms like I’m memorising the shape of her one last time, just in case.
She steps back, already turning, already moving like she knows I’ll follow orders better if she doesn’t give me time to change my mind.
One last look over her shoulder.
One last smile – sharp, confident, alive.
Then she slips away, footsteps light as she heads for the elevator, disappearing just as the doors slide shut.
The space she leaves behind feels wrong. Empty. Charged.
I square my shoulders, force my body to obey, and head the other way – toward the others, toward noise and movement and the illusion of normal.
Behind me, somewhere deep in the building, systems hum and shift.
Something big is about to wake up.
And I already know – whatever happens next, I’m not losing her again.
Not ever.
CONSEQUENCES ARE CONTAGIOUS
Psycho - Anne-Marie x Aitch
Kookaburra
The lift doors open and the air changes – pressurised, charged, like the whole building is inhaling before a scream. Somewhere in the maze of corridors, something big and metal slams shut. The facility is finally realising what I’ve done.
