“I don’t usually bring it up,” she says.
“I noticed.” I swallow. “I wasn’t prying. I just…”
I trail off, because ‘I want to know you’ feels like too much to say out loud.
She studies my face for a moment. “Romania was home,” she says finally. “Until it wasn’t anymore.”
I nod, even though I don’t really understand. Not the way she does.
“I’d like to hear it sometime,” I say. “If you ever want to tell me.”
Her mouth curves into a small, surprised smile. “Another time,” she says softly. “Not tonight.”
“Okay.”
We stay like that—quiet, breathing the same inches of air—until she eases off my lap. Her palm rests over my sternum for a heartbeat, the warmth sinking through cotton.
“Are you sure about the couch?” she asks, voice low. “The bed’s big enough for both of us.”
I let my answer carry the warning and the want. “Only if you’re not planning to sleep.”
Color rises high on her cheeks. The corner of her mouth tips. “Goodnight, Starboy.”
“Night, Rules.”
She climbs the stairs.
I lean back and stare at the ceiling, a stupid grin still tugging at my mouth while the fire pops and settles. For the first time all weekend, my head is quiet.
It doesn’t last.
My phone buzzes on the coffeetable.
I already know who it is.
ISABELLE
Time’s running out. Hope you’re making progress. I’m getting impatient.
My jaw locks. Heat flares—panic tangled with anger.
What am I doing, letting her exist in this space at all?
I type.
KIERAN
Fuck off. Get a life
My thumb hovers.
If she pushes this, if she dumps screenshots, names, context into the wrong hands, it’s over.
Not messy. Not dramatic. Just done.
The Defenders’ GM hears.
The handshake disappears.
