The night had teeth.Not sharp and loud—but quiet, deliberate.The kind that sinks in softly, so you don't realize you're bleeding until it's too late.
Mara stood at the balcony, bare feet cold against the tile, city lights dripping gold and smoke beneath her. The air carried that electric hush before a storm, and she felt it crawling up her skin, threading into her breath.
Elias was behind her. Not touching. Just close enough that his presence filled the room like low thunder. He didn't have to speak—he never did. His silence was its own language, one she'd learned too well.
"I can feel you thinking," he finally said, voice rough.
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "You make it sound like a crime."
"Maybe it is. For someone like you."
She turned then, slow, like the moment might shatter if she moved too fast. His gaze caught her mid-spin. She hated how it burned—not like fire. Like smoke. Soft. Consuming.
"You shouldn't look at me like that," she whispered.
He tilted his head. "Like what?"
"Like you already know where this ends."
Elias stepped forward. One step. Then another. He didn't touch her yet, but her body swayed toward him anyway, pulled by something she no longer had the strength to pretend wasn't real.
"Maybe I do," he said. His voice was a low hum against the night.
Her breath faltered. "Elias—"
He stopped inches away, close enough for the heat of him to seep through the cool air. His hand came up, slow, deliberate, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek. His fingers lingered at the curve of her jaw, like they belonged there.
"You keep saying my name like it's a warning," he murmured.
"Maybe it is."
"And yet…" His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, and her pulse leapt against her throat. "…you never walk away."
Her chest rose and fell, shallow and sharp. "I don't know how to."
For a beat, the world outside the balcony fell away—just him, her, and the sound of a heart beating too fast to be safe. His hand slid to the back of her neck, steady and warm. Her eyes fluttered shut as his forehead leaned against hers, breaths tangling like smoke.
This was their line.The one they drew, crossed, and redrew again.Always closer. Always shaking. Always wanting.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. He caught the tremor in her hands but didn't push. He never did. That was the danger of him—he didn't need to force her. He just stood there, and she chose. Every time.
"Mara," he breathed, softer than she'd ever heard him.
She looked up at him, at the shadows under his eyes, at the storm wrapped in restraint. "If we cross this…"
His mouth curved against her skin—half a smile, half a sin. "We already did."
Then silence. Not peaceful. Heavy. A hush that hummed with everything they'd never dared to say out loud.
She should've pulled away.She didn't.
Elias's fingers brushed down the side of her throat, slow and reverent, like a confession. Her pulse thudded against his touch. He tilted his head, lips hovering close—close enough that the night itself seemed to lean in, waiting.
This was how it always started. Quiet. Careful. A storm disguised as a sigh.
She whispered, "We're going to burn for this."
He answered against her skin, "Then let it burn."