"You noticed it too?” Dante asked.
"I'd have to be blind not to,” Rocco said. "I don't want to compete with you."
Dante looked surprised. “I don’t want to compete, either."
"I've watched the way she looks at you,” Rocco said.
"And I've watched the way she looks at you,” Dante countered.
Rocco rubbed a hand over his jaw. "She trusts us differently."
Dante nodded. "But she trusts us, and that’s all that matters. I won't make her choose.” The words came quietly as Dante met his eyes.
"I wouldn't ask her to, either,” Rocco promised. Something shifted between them. It wasn’t friendship—not yet- but something more like respect. It was the kind forged in firefights and impossible choices.
"We let her decide," Rocco said. "When she's ready." Dante extended his hand, and Rocco looked at it for a second before shaking it.
"No pressure, no cages, and no ultimatums,” Dante said.
A soft voice drifted from the living room. "I'd like that." Both men turned to find Lark standing in the doorway, Isabella's journal tucked against her chest. Rocco could tell that she'dheard enough. A blush warmed her cheeks, but she didn't look frightened. She looked hopeful. Her gaze moved from Dante to Rocco and then back again.
"I don't know what this is yet," she admitted quietly.
"But,” Rocco said.
A shy smile touched her lips. "But I want both of you, and I'd like the chance to find out if the three of us can work. The question is, can the two of you share me, or will I be forced to choose one of you at some point?” she asked.
Neither man rushed toward her nor demanded answers. Instead, they simply smiled, and for the first time since escaping the Santos compound, the little cabin didn't feel like a hiding place. It felt like the beginning of something entirely new.
The cabin settled into silence as darkness wrapped itself around the mountains. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, filling the room with warmth that had nothing to do with the flames. Rocco sat on the porch longer than he should have. He'd spent years believing he understood loneliness, but tonight proved he'd only understood being alone. There was a difference.
Every time Lark looked at him the way that she did, he turned into a coward and ran. He came up with stupid excuses to check on something or call into STARR, when all he was doing was running. He could see in both Lark's and Dante’s eyes that they knew what he was really doing. He wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all himself.
The cabin door opened behind him. "You planning on sleeping out here?" Lark's voice was soft enough that it blended with the breeze. He looked over his shoulder to find that she'dchanged into one of his old sweatshirts, the sleeves hanging well past her hands. Her damp hair fell over one shoulder, and the bruises on her face had begun fading into pale yellow.
"I couldn't sleep,” he lied. He knew that if he closed his eyes for just a second, he’d fall asleep for days.
She smiled knowingly. "You keep saying that."
"It's still true,” he grumbled. She walked onto the porch and leaned against the railing beside him. For several quiet moments, they watched fireflies drift through the trees.
"I've been thinking,” she said.
"That worries me,” he teased.
She laughed. "It worries me too." Her smile slowly disappeared. "I've spent my whole life having people decide everything for me."
Rocco nodded. "I know."
"My father decided where I lived." She looked out into the darkness. "What I wore, and who I talked to." His chest tightened. “He even decided who I would eventually marry." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't want anyone making those decisions ever again."
"No one will, Lark. Not ever again,” Rocco breathed.
She looked at him. "Promise?"
"I promise,” he said.
"You can't make me that promise, Rocco,” she insisted.
