She was scared.
I slowed down just a little, leaning into the curve of the road as the engine hummed steadily beneath us. Then, without thinking, I reached back with one hand and tapped her thigh lightly.
“Hey,” I said over my shoulder, my voice just loud enough to cut through the wind.
Nothing.
She didn’t relax. Her arms only tightened around me again, her breathing shallow against my back.
So I tried something else.
My thumb brushed a slow circle against her thigh, signalling her to breathe.
Again.
And again.
It was instinct. I didn’t even think about it.
The same way I used to calm Honey when she got restless or steady my own hands when the past crept in too close.
I felt her flinch once. Then her fingers loosened. Her head dropped lightly against my back, the tension melting bit by bit as we rode past the city lights.
The rhythm of the bike, the wind, the hum of the tyres—all of it seemed to wrap around us until the world blurred away.
“I won’t let you get hurt,” I said, quiet enough that only she could hear it, not even sure if she did. But her arms shifted then, still holding on, but not from fear. Something softer. Something that made my heart pound against my ribs so hard that it hurt.
So I kept one hand steady on the throttle, the other tracing lazy, grounding circles against her leg as we drove up the winding hill.
The city stretched below us like a sea of gold. Her weight against me grew lighter, and I knew that right now, she was mine to keep safe.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Joshua
The engine died with a low growl that faded into the night, leaving nothing but the hum of the wind and the city sprawled below us like a sea of glittering gold.
Aurora climbed off first, her movements careful, quiet. She tugged the helmet off with both hands, strands of hair spilling down past her shoulders, the cold air turning her breath into little clouds.
I followed, boots crunching against the gravel as I swung my leg over the bike. Took my helmet off and set it beside hers on the seat.
And then—silence.
The kind that wasn’t peaceful.
The kind that screamed.
She stood a few feet ahead, staring out at the city lights. The way they reflected in her eyes made them look almost wet, as if she were holding something back.
I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets because I didn’t trust myself not to reach for her. Didn’t trust myself not to ruin this moment, too.
The wind picked up. Cold. Sharp. It bit at my skin, but I couldn’t feel much of anything except the ache in my chest.
I looked at her, the slope of her shoulders, the way her hoodie danced in the wind, the faint curve of her jaw as she looked down at the world that kept moving even when ours had stopped.
This was it.
Our last night.
