The next morning, Aria found Xander in the study, exactly where she'd known he'd be.
He was flipping through the stack of Amara's notes, brow furrowed, coffee gone cold beside him. He didn't look up when she entered—but he knew.
"You think I don't recognize myself in that photo?" he asked without turning around.
Aria's chest tightened. "You were there."
"Yeah," he said, slowly setting down the papers. "I was."
Silence stretched between them like glass. Thin. Ready to shatter.
"Then why didn't you tell me?" Her voice was low, tight with the storm she was trying to hold in. "Why let me believe you had nothing to do with her leaving?"
Xander finally met her eyes. "Because the moment I told you, you would've stopped trusting me."
She stared at him. "So you lied instead."
"I protected you."
"Don't you dare say that."
"I protected her," he snapped, louder than he meant to. He stood, pushing the chair back. "I watched your father use her, break her down, track her every step until she didn't know who she was anymore. She came to me because I was the only person who didn't owe him anything."
Aria folded her arms, fingers digging into her sleeves. "So you helped her disappear."
"Yes."
"And me? Did you plan to disappear me too?"
"No," he said, quieter now. "But you weren't supposed to find that room. You weren't supposed to chase this."
Her lips parted, then closed again. Her throat was dry. "I didn't know what I was chasing until it was too late."
Xander stepped closer. His voice dropped to a murmur. "Amara didn't want you dragged into it. She thought if you believed she was gone, you'd be safe. But I always knew that wouldn't hold you."
"You underestimated me," she whispered.
"No." His eyes darkened. "I knew you too well. That's why I didn't want to tell you. Because I knew you'd run straight into the fire."
Silence, again. Then a spark.
She moved first—anger and longing crashing like thunder. She grabbed his collar and kissed him, hard. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was everything she didn't say slamming into everything he didn't admit.
He kissed her back like he'd been waiting for it—but the moment was fragile, too heavy to hold.
Xander pulled back first, his breath ragged.
"This doesn't fix anything," he said.
"I don't want it to," she said quietly. "I just wanted to know it wasn't all a lie."
His hand lingered at her waist, but his voice was hollow. "It wasn't. It never was."
And that, somehow, made it worse.