A breath of relief leaves me. I almost laugh.Of coursehe’d know panic would be my first instinct. Lying back down, I stare at the ceiling with the note resting over my heart as hard proof that none of this was a figment of my imagination.
It’s then last night threads through me in quiet flashes… The firelight against his face, the unshaken rhythm of his voice, the way he touched me like I was worthy. Desirable even after I’d done. I wish I could say it was purely adrenaline, that the trauma bonding and shared criminal liability forced our hand. The forced proximity of the cabin, the fact there was only one bed, and I made him lay down with me…
But I’d only be lying myself.
It’s clear something had been building long before we even got to the cabin. Something unexpected and inexplicable—like gravity finally giving in.
I wrench the covers off and all but jump out of bed before I can overthink it further, padding into the bathroom for a shower. The old pipes groan when I turn the dial, and soon steam begins to gather in the small space, blurring the edges of everything until the mirror no longer reflects someone I entirely recognize. It’s not until I’m under the water that I allow myself to feel it.
The ache.
The warmth.
The memory of Crew’s hands playing me like a fucking violin.
Tilting my face into the spray, I close my eyes. I was married for six months and I don’t remember ever feeling chosen the way I did last night. The thought lodges somewhere tender, drawing a hand up to my chest.
What does this mean?
What are we doing?
There’s a body dissolving in a sulfur pit not far from here, my entire future exists in a haze of legal improbability, and yetthe most dangerous thing in this cabin might be the way Crew looked at me like I wasn’t fragile.
The bathroom door opens then, charging the air subtly yet immediately. Even over the rush of water I can feel it, the awareness that sparks low in my belly before his voice meets my ears.
“Alma?” His tone is nothing short of careful.
“I’m in here,” I call back, hating the way my pulse betrays me.
There’s a pause, then the quiet thud of boots and the muted sound of fabric hitting the floor. The curtain draws back just enough for him to step inside, and suddenly the shower feels impossibly smaller, the steam thicker, the world narrowing to only the space between us. Water slides down his shoulders, tracing lines I’m somehow familiar with despite the fact I hadn’t seen them clearly in the dark. He doesn’t touch me, just stares down at me, his eyebrows knit together in the middle of his fine face.
“Hi,” he says softly.
My heart rate jumps up another notch. “Hi.”
Those blue eyes, brighter now in the daylight, move over my face. They’re not possessive or hungry, but assessing. He’s making sure I’m here, present in the moment.
That I’m okay.
“I wasn’t far,” he explains. “Just wanted to get a head start and check on the pit.”
I nod. “I read your note.”
A faint smile ghosts across his lips. “And?”
“I didn’t panic.”
“Good.”
He steps closer now, allowing the water to cascade over both of us. Brushing the wet strands stuck to my cheek, his thumb lingers just below my ear as if touching me somehow grounds him as much as it seems to ground me.
“You slept,” he murmurs.
My head bobs again. “So did you.”
Crew hitches a shoulder and allows the spray to rain down on his face, his hand scrubbing down its length. “Eventually.”
There’s something fragile in that admission, something that doesn’t quite match the man who calmly orchestrated the disposal of my husband and cleaned up my tracks. It also doesn’t match the man who fucked me into another dimension until I passed out.
