“Where you are,” he says. “Where you fit.”
“I’m not a thing you slot into place.”
Sting leans closer. Close enough that his breath brushes her cheek. “You’re not nothing either,” he murmurs.
Vi’s breath catches. I can see the goose bumps rise along her skin.
Rogue shifts his weight, interest sharpening. “Careful, Sting.”
Sting doesn’t stop. His mouth drifts closer, not to her lips. To her cheek. He doesn’t kiss her. He brushes. Just the faintest graze of his lips along the curve of her cheekbone, close enough that it’s almost an accident. Almost. Then closer to her ear.
Vi sucks in a sharp breath and frowns. Her hands flex uselessly behind the chair.
Something twists low in my gut, but not jealousy oranger. Acknowledgment. This is ownership becoming physical. My hands curl into fists before I force them back open.
Sting pulls back just enough to look at her face.
Her eyes are wide now. Not frightened. Alert. Alive. “So being noticed is bad?”
“Sometimes,” he says.
Rogue breaks it with a low chuckle. “She’s putting it together.”
Vi doesn’t look away from Sting. “I’m not temporary,” she says slowly, like she’s tasting the words.
“No,” Sting agrees.
“I’m not just useful.”
He studies her for a long moment. “That depends.”
Anger flashes. “Stop speaking in these stupid riddles.”
He leans in again, not touching this time, but close enough that she feels his breath. “They’re all you get for now.”
I clear my throat.
He finally eases back, his hand still resting lightly at her spine.
“That’s enough,” I say.
For a moment, I think he’s going to ignore me. Then, slowly, deliberately, he removes his hand.
Vi’s body reacts instantly, a subtle sway forward like she didn’t realize she’d been anchored until the support vanished.
Sting notices. A spark of satisfaction flashes in his eyes.
Rogue lets out another soft whistle. “You’re right, Vi. You’re not temporary.”
Her gaze drops for a brief second, then lifts again, harder. “I don’t know what that means.”
No one says anything. Not me. Not Rogue. Sting just looks at her like a decision has already been made.
And in that look, I see the truth of it. She isn’t being managed anymore. She’s being chosen.
31
ARMEN
