"Because I can't stop." The words came out wrecked, stripped of everything. "That's the answer. That's all of it. I cannot stop." He closed his eyes. When he opened them again they were dark and wild and exhausted. "I hate that I can't stop thinking about you. I hate that I lie awake remembering how you used to look at me before I ruined it. I hate that some drunk bastard can say your name and I want to burn everything to the ground." His voice dropped to almost nothing. "I hate that nothing I do changes what I feel. I have tried. I have tried for years, Ada."
"You said you hated me," I whispered. "You said the feeling was mutual."
"I do hate you." Rough. Raw. Like the words had been dragged out of him. "And no one speaks to you that way. Not while I'mbreathing. Those two things are both true and I don't know what to do with that. I don't know what to do with any of this."
"So you defend me and then push me away?—"
"Yes." No hesitation. "Because the alternative is worse." His laugh came out bitter. "I'd do it again. I'd do worse. I'd burn down every room you've ever been humiliated in and I'd feel nothing about it except relief." He looked at me like I was something he couldn't solve. "And then I'd still push you away. Because you should go back to Sarp. You should go back right now."
I should have. The warm eyes and the apology and the careful, uncomplicated kindness were twenty feet away.
I didn't move.
He was going to kiss me. I could see it in every line of his body, in the tension coiling through him like a spring about to break.
Part of me had wanted this for years. I had dreamed about it and hated myself for dreaming.
Then he stepped back. Jerked away like I'd burned him.
"Go back to your festival." Flat. Cold. The mask slammed back into place. "Go back to Sarp."
"Don't you dare —"
"Go, Ada." Desperate. "Before I do something we'll both regret."
"Like what?" I grabbed his shirt. Fisted my hands in the fabric and yanked him back. "Like admitting you still give a shit about me? Like showing me you're not the heartless bastard you pretend to be?"
"You don't know what you're asking for."
"Then tell me. Tell me why you really got him arrested. Tell me why you risk everything for someone you claim to hate. Tell me —"
He kissed me.
Desperate and hungry and nothing like gentle. His hand cupped my face while the other braced against the tree, and he kissed me like he'd been starving for it. Like he'd been holding back for months and couldn't anymore. Like this might be the only chance he ever got.
I kissed him back just as desperately. Pulled him closer and opened for him and gods, this was madness but I didn't care, didn't care about anything except the taste of him and the heat and the way his body pressed against mine like he was trying to crawl inside my skin.
Then our magic connected.
Light poured out of me into him — divine energy flooding through the connection between our mouths, our bodies, our souls. And something rose up to meet it. Something dark. Something that felt like void, like the space between stars, like shadows given form and hunger.
The collision was violent. Wrong. My light magic slammed into his and both of us gasped as the energies twisted together, fought each other, tried to find some impossible balance.
He tore away with a gasp. Stumbled back, eyes wide, and I saw it — darkness flickering across his hands like living smoke. There and gone so fast I might have imagined it, but the smell of char lingered. The smell of something burning.
"What —" I reached for him, but he flinched back.
"Don't." His voice shook. "Don't touch me. Don't —" He looked at his hands like they belonged to someone else. Like they'd just done something monstrous. "This was a mistake."
"Hakan —"
"Go back to your father, Ada." He wouldn't look at me. "Go back to the light where you belong. And stay the fuck away from me."
"What just happened? What was that?"
"Nothing." But his hands were still trembling. Still smoking faintly. "It was nothing. Just — go. Please."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me —"
