Jinx is quiet. Listening.
"Six years in the pits. I lost count of how many fights. How many people I put down." I grip the railing, stare at my scarred knuckles. "I learned to shut off everything that wasn't useful. Fear, hope, compassion. All weaknesses. All things that could get you killed."
"Sounds familiar."
"Yeah. I figured it might." I turn to look at him. "And then I met you. And you had me beat. You had me dead to rights, bleeding out on concrete, and you just... stopped. Walked away. Took the punishment instead of taking my life."
"I told you. You weren't special. You were just an excuse."
"Bullshit." I step closer. He doesn't retreat. "You saw something in me that night. Same thing I saw in you. We… have something here. Chemistry. Attraction. Or maybe just understanding. Two monsters who were tired of being monstrous."
"I'm not tired of anything. I like being a monster."
"Jesus fuck, you believe yourself?"
His jaw flexes. "You don't know me."
"I know you better than anyone." Another step. We're close now, close enough to touch. "I know you because you're the same as me. Built for violence, trained for destruction, scared shitless of anything that feels like softness. You think I don't understand? I spent six years trying to forget your face. Trying to convince myself that what I felt in that pit was just adrenaline, just survival instinct, just anything other than what it actually was."
"And what was it?"
"Recognition." I hold his gaze. "I saw myself in you. And it terrified me. Because if you were human, if you could choose not to kill, then maybe I could too. And I wasn't ready for that."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you asked. And because I don't do lies, Jinx. Not anymore. The pits taught me that truth is the only weapon that never runs out." I reach out, slow enough that he can stop me if he wants, and grip his chin. Force him to meet my eyes. "I want you. I've wanted you for six years. And I think you want me too, but you're too scared to admit it."
"I'm not scared of anything."
"You're scared of this." I brush my thumb across his lower lip. His breath catches. "You're scared of what happens if you let yourself have something good. Because the last time you wanted something, they used it against you."
His eyes widen. Just a fraction, but I see it. I've hit a nerve.
"How do you know about that?"
"I don't. But I know the pits. I know how they operated. Find out what someone cares about, use it as leverage." I release his chin but don't step back. "They did it to me too. A girl I grew up with in juvie. They brought her in, made me watch while they..." I stop. Breathe. "I learned the same lesson you did. Don't care about anyone. Don't want anything. Keep your heart locked up tight."
"And now?"
"Now I'm tired of being locked up." I lean in, my mouth close to his ear. "Tonight. After everyone's asleep. Come to my room."
He pulls back, stares at me. "That's not how this works. You don't just tell me what to do. Besides you said I had thirty-six hours. It’s been like, one."
"I'm not telling. I'm asking." I hold his gaze. "Come to my room tonight. Let's stop circling and start figuring out what this is. No more games. No more running. Just us, finding out if this thing between us is real or if it's just six years of unfinished business that needs to be put to rest."
"And if I don't come?"
"Then I'll have my answer."
I step back. Give him space. The decision has to be his. I've laid my cards on the table. Now it's up to him to decide if he wants to play.
"Think about it," I say, and turn to go back inside.
His voice stops me at the door. "Asher."
I look back.
He's still standing at the railing, silhouetted against the dying light. His expression is unreadable. But his voice, when he speaks, is rough. Raw.
