I slowed. Not stopped completely. Just… lingered. Let the last few paces stretch into something deliberate, obscene in its patience. My pulse was loud in my own ears now—too loud—like the hallway itself was holding its breath with us.
Sarah felt it. She pulled back just enough to look at me—both hands rising to cradle my face, palms hot against my jaw, thumbs dragging slow across the wet curve of my lower lip. Her fingertips were trembling the tiniest amount. Not fear. Not nerves exactly.
Just… the body admitting what the mind was still trying to whisper.
Her eyes searched mine in the dim hallway light. Long. Unblinking. Pupils blown wide. No words. Just that raw, quiet, absolute recognition burning between us: This is happening. This is real. This is us—finally past the point of pretending.
I watched her throat move on a hard swallow. Watched the quick flutter at the base of her neck where her pulse was sprinting.
