“Focus,” Marco warns.
He’s right. She’s the one weakness I can’t afford.
The rooftop waitslike it knows I’ll come.
I tell myself I need air. Space. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s because I knew she’d be here.
My cigarette burns low between my fingers. The sea throws back the city’s lights, restless and dark.
Then I see her.
Standing on the ledge again, hair pulled by the wind, toes close to the drop.
“You planning to jump tonight, little lamb?”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even glance my way. Her voice drifts back, smooth, steady.
“Not tonight. But one night I will.”
Something in her tone freezes the air. No tremor. No plea for attention.
A fact, not a threat.
I step forward slowly. “How much have you learned with the knife?” I ask, because her comment about jumping is for another time, I don’t want her problems on me tonight.
Still, she doesn’t look over, but her answer isn’t about the blade. “Have you been ignoring me?” Silence stretches between us. Then she sighs. “I don’t blame you. We both know this is wrong.”
“After the trial,” I cut in, my voice lower now, “my head wasn’t in the right place. I needed to stay away from everyone.”
She finally turns. Her face hits me like a sucker punch I wasn’t braced for, the soft shadows under her eyes like bruises from the inside out.
“So?” I ask, forcing my tone back into something rough. “The knife?”
“I can handle it,” she says.
She jumps down from the ledge like it’s nothing, walks toward me, her boots hitting the stone with sharp little notes. She pulls the knife from her back pocket and holds it out, balancing it on her finger. Smiling, I take it from her, my fingers brushing hers.
I examine it then smirk. “Maybe you just need to get faster, little lamb.”
She laughs. A real laugh, and that sound twists something in my chest.
She reaches for the knife, quick and cocky, so I use the moment. I shift, grab her wrist, flip her back in one motion, and press her into the cold stone wall. Her gasp is soft, but her eyes burn.
“You need to protect yourself, little lamb,” I murmur against her cheek. “You need to learn that the wolf always wins.”
She doesn’t speak.
I lean closer until our mouths almost meet. The space between us hums. Then I kiss her. Rough. Real. A hit neither of us expects.
When I pull back, her lips are parted, eyes dazed. The air between us vibrates.
“You learn fast,” I say, voice rough. I slip her knife into my back pocket.
She begins to lower herself to the ground, shoulders rising with every breath. The light catches the curve of her throat, the pulse there wild and visible.
I should walk away. Tell her to go.
Instead, I reach down, fingers brushing her jaw, forcing her to look up.
