"Okay," she finally says.
My chest loosens slightly. "Okay?"
"I'll watch what you do. That's all I can promise right now." Her chin lifts, that familiar defiance surfacing. "But if you pull something like this again, if you make decisions about my life without my input, I'm gone. No more chances."
"Understood."
We stand there, neither of us moving. The air between us feels charged, electric with everything that's been said and everything that hasn't. I'm acutely aware of the curve of her collarbone above her sweater, the way her lips part slightly.
She notices me looking. Something flickers in her eyes, awareness, maybe.
The pull toward her is almost gravitational. Every instinct screams to close the distance, to cup her face in my hands, to show her with actions what words can't convey.
But I don't get to make that decision for her. What I can do isstep back. Give her the space to choose whether she wants me closer.
I step back.
"Goodnight, Celeste."
Something shifts in her expression at the retreat. Surprise, maybe. Or something else I can't name.
"Goodnight," she says. "Maximus."
She closes the door slowly. Not a slam. Just a quiet click, like a sentence ending with a period instead of an exclamation point.
I stand in the corridor for a moment, breathing through the ache in my chest.
It's not fixed. We're not fixed. I may never fully earn back what I destroyed.
But I've started. And for the first time since she told me to leave, I feel like something other than a monster.
I turn and walk toward the security center. There's work to do, Konstantin to counter, networks to protect, a war to fight.
But underneath all of it, a small flame flickers.
Hope.
Fragile, uncertain, but alive.
I'll try to be worthy of it.
Chapter
Seventeen
The conference room is already half-full when I arrive.
Julian stands near the windows, tablet in hand, his expression tight with barely contained frustration. Marcellus has claimed his usual position near the head of the table, arms crossed, radiating the kind of controlled tension that makes lesser vampires find somewhere else to be. Nadia sits with perfect posture, reviewing something on her phone. Two security officers I recognize from patrol rotations, Ethan and Victor, are murmuring over a spread of maps.
And Maximus.
He's at the head of the table, leaning over documents, one hand braced against the polished wood. The position pulls his jacket tight across his shoulders, emphasizing the breadth of them, the lean strength he usually hides beneath perfect tailoring. He's changed since I saw him at my door. Fresh shirt, dark jacket, every inch the commander his people need him to be. But the shadows under his eyes haven't faded, and when he shifts hisweight, I catch the slightest tension in his jaw. A muscle feathering beneath the skin. The kind of tell that comes from holding yourself together through sheer force of will.
He looks up when I enter.
Our eyes meet across the room. Everything else falls away for a single, suspended moment. The other vampires. The crisis. The anger still coiled tight beneath my ribs. There's just him, looking at me like I'm the only fixed point in a spinning room. Those storm-gray eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle, makes me aware of every inch of space between us.
Then he blinks, and the commander is back. A small nod, nothing more, and he returns to the maps.
