"Was it a lie?"
He looks at me then. Those hazel eyes sharp and searching.
"I don't know yet," he says honestly. "But I shouldn't have said it."
It's not an apology. Not really. But it's something.
More than I expected.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay?"
"Okay."
We sit in silence for another few minutes. Him reading. Me existing.
Then my phone buzzes. A text from Margot saying they're on their way home.
"I should go," I say, starting to push myself up—
My hand slips.
I don't know if it's exhaustion or the awkward angle or my body just giving out, but suddenly I'm falling sideways, flailing, about to crash off the chair—
Bane catches me.
His hand wraps around my arm—firm, steadying, warm—and pulls me back before I can faceplant onto the hardwood floor.
We freeze.
His face is inches from mine. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his irises, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way his pupils dilate as he breathes in.
Breathes in.
His nostrils flare.
Something shifts in his expression. Cracks open. His grip on my arm tightens.
"What—" His voice comes out rough. Wrong. He swallows hard. "What the fuck is that?"
He can smell it.
Whatever's leaking through my failing suppressants. Whatever's building in my body. He can smell it.
Panic floods through me.
"Nothing," I say, pulling back, pulling away, scrambling to my feet even though it hurts. "I have to go."
"Max—"
"Thanks for catching me."
I don't run.
But I walk very, very fast.
And I don't look back.
