“Too late.”
We climb a stairwell behind one of the food stalls—half-forgotten emergency access stairs that lead to the roof of a converted hoverpark tower. The whole city spreads below us, a riot of glowing lights and dusk-painted glass. The sky is honeyand blood, the sun sinking low behind a swarm of blinking hovercars that zip through the traffic bands like fireflies on caffeine.
I sit down with a grunt, legs dangling over the edge. Sable settles beside me, shoulder against my bicep, keffri doll in her lap.
For a while, we just breathe. I can feel the city hum beneath us, the warm pulse of a hundred thousand lives doing what they do—loving, yelling, hoping, failing. It’s not the kind of quiet I’m used to. It’s better.
“You’re not what I expected,” she says, voice soft.
I glance over. Her eyes are still on the horizon, but there’s something deeper in her tone. Something raw.
“You expected dumb muscle?” I say, trying to keep it light.
She shakes her head. “No. I expected loud. Arrogant. Dangerous.”
“I am all those things.”
“But you’re also kind. Thoughtful. You listen. You protect. And you’re funny, in a very punchable way.”
“High praise.”
She finally looks at me, green eyes catching the last blaze of the sun.
“I didn’t expect… you.”
My heart does that two-beat hiccup again, the one I’ve been trying to ignore.
I turn toward her, one hand sliding along the rooftop to find hers. She doesn’t pull away. Our fingers tangle, slow and deliberate.
I lean in.
She does too.
And when our lips meet, it’s not fireworks or music swelling. It’s something deeper. Something ancient. A fusion reactor going critical inside my chest.
Her mouth is warm and urgent against mine, her fingers curling into the fabric of my vest. I taste algae and sugar and something uniquely Sable—fire, defiance, sweetness that bites back.
I’ve kissed people before. For fun, for passion, for boredom.
But I’ve never kissed like this.
This is surrender.
This is war.
This is coming home.
Her lips are still on mine when I realize I’ve stopped breathing.
She kisses like she means it. No hesitation, no game-playing. Just fire, hunger, something real and terrifying. I feel it in every nerve, like I’ve been plugged into a live conduit and someone threw the switch. Her hands grip my vest, anchoring me like she’s afraid she might drift away if she lets go.
And then, just like that—she lets go.
Sable pulls back with a breath that shakes against my skin, green eyes wide, lips slightly parted. For a second, neither of us speaks. The city below keeps buzzing—hovercars zipping past, the murmur of voices and laughter from the fair still rising—but it all sounds far away, like we’re underwater now, sunk into something deeper than noise.
“I…” she starts, then stops. A small smile plays at her lips—soft, unsure. “I should get inside. Big day tomorrow.”
I want to say something. Anything.
