Sleep was a lost cause.
My body was too aware of itself. Every brush of fabric felt louder. Every memory replayed with detail I hadn't authorized.
I was halfway through making tea when a knock sounded at the door.
I didn't need to ask who it was.
Jude stood there when I opened it. Close. Too close.
"I won't stay," he said immediately. "I just—needed to see you."
I stepped aside.
Liar.
The door closed behind him. The room felt smaller instantly.
"You shouldn't have come," I said.
"You shouldn't have let me in."
Fair.
Silence stretched. Heavy. Charged.
"You're flirting with him," Jude said.
"I flirt with everyone."
"That's not true."
I tilted my head. "You still know my tells."
"Yes," he said quietly. "And you're doing this because you're scared."
I crossed my arms. "Of what?"
"Of feeling what you feel with me."
The honesty hit harder than accusation ever could.
I stepped closer before I could stop myself. "You don't get to diagnose me."
"I get to recognize you."
Our breaths mingled. My heart pounded.
"You left," he said softly. "And I never stopped wanting you to stay."
The room went still.
"That's not fair," I whispered.
"Neither was losing you."
I didn't plan the kiss.
I didn't think.
I just closed the distance.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't desperate. It was hungry in a restrained way that made my knees weaken instantly. His hand slid to my waist, firm, familiar, like it had always belonged there.
I kissed him back for three dangerous seconds.
Then I pulled away.
We stood there, foreheads nearly touching, both breathing hard.
"This," I said, voice shaking just slightly, "doesn't mean what you think it means."
He smiled faintly. "I know."
Because that was the worst part.
He knew.
And so did I.
Somewhere in town, Cassian was probably smiling without knowing why.
And I was standing in my kitchen, pulse racing, realizing I'd crossed the first real line.
Not with a decision.
But with a kiss that promised nothing and everything at once.