Because she’s here.
She doesn’t belong in this world—not even close. And yet, I’ve dragged her into it, bound her to it in a way I can’t take back.
I never planned on coming back here like this. But this time, it’s not about business. It’s about her.
Kruz is asleep on the couch, a tangled mess of limbs and a scowl even in unconsciousness.
She’s beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you, raw and unapologetic.
It’s not just her high cheekbones or full lips, though those definitely get to me.
It’s the way she moves, like she doesn’t care if the world is watching or not, and the way she says exactly what’s on her mind, no filter, no hesitation.
She’s messy and stubborn and so damn alive that it makes everything else feel dull in comparison.
Even now, with her dark curly hair a disaster and her sock half falling off, I can’t look away.
She’s chaos wrapped in beauty, all fire and edge and sweetness she doesn’t even realize she has.
And I’m a complete fucking goner.
I just hope I can pull some of that sweetness out of her again in time, because I haven’t been on the receiving end of it for quite some time now.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t just as drawn to her sharp edges as I am to the softness she tries so hard to hide. There’s something intoxicating about the fire in her, the way she doesn’t hesitate to bare her teeth, to spit venom when she’s cornered. I love every side of her—the fury, the fight, the rare moments of warmth she probably doesn’t even know she’s capable of. It’s all-consuming. Maddening. And right now, completely out of my reach.
I’ve done my best to make the cottage livable, though calling it that feels like a stretch. The caretaker’s quarters—a single bedroom barely big enough for the old, lumpy mattress shoved against the wall, a cramped kitchen that looks like it hasn’t been updated in decades, and a living area dominated by a massive wood-burning fireplace—aren’t exactly meant for comfort. They’re meant to be functional.
Barely.
The man who usually stays here didn’t hesitate to take the little vacation I offered. He was well on his way before we ever arrived.
I brought supplies—enough canned food to last us a couple of weeks, though the options aren’t exactly gourmet. Soup, beans, and some dry goods that won’t go bad quickly. A first aid kit stocked with the basics, because knowing her, she’ll need it. And enough firewood to keep the place from turning into an icebox, at least at night.
The water situation isn’t ideal, but it’ll have to do. An old rain catchment system runs along the cottage roof, feeding into a rusted tank behind the building. It filters the water just enough to keep it from being a death sentence, but I’ll still have to boil it before we can drink it. It’s a crude setup, not much better than roughing it in the woods, but it’s enough to survive.
For now.
The electricity, though…
The single overhead bulb flickers ominously as I pull open the kitchen cabinets, erratic shadows splaying across the worn countertops. I take a slow breath, making a mental inventory of what’s left behind—dusty cans, half-used supplies, the kind of essentials that say someone was here once but never planned to stay long.
Power has always been an issue out here. A few years back, they installed a small array of solar panels near the lighthouse—just enough to keep the beacon operational without relying on fuel. The panels also feed into the cottage, but the energy they provide is unreliable at best. Cloudy days like today drain the reserves faster than they can replenish, and there’s no telling when the lights will go out completely. It’s just another reminder that this place was never meant for comfort.
The Assembly doesn’t care about luxury. They care about efficiency. About control. This place exists for one reason: storage. The drugs we move through here don’t need electricity, don’t care if the wiring is decades out of date or if the cold creeps in through the cracks. That’s all this place has ever been to me—a waypoint, a stopgap, a place to get in, get out, and do what needed to be done.
But now, with Kruz asleep on the couch, her scowl softened by exhaustion, I find myself looking at these walls differently. The isolation, the silence—it’s suffocating in a way I never noticed before.
The chill in the air feels heavier somehow, sinking into my skin and settling deep inside me. The silence, too, is louder, thick with something I can’t quite name. It’s not just an empty island anymore. It’s a place where she stands out—where her presence, her energy, disrupts the stillness in a way that shouldn’t even matter. But it does.
Maybe it’s the way she looks at things, like there’s something worth noticing in this forgotten, utilitarian place. It makes me notice things, too—the rough texture of the wooden walls, the way the wind howls through the cracks, the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs. It’s the same as it’s always been, and yet, it feels different.
Maybe it’s just her. Maybe it’s just what she does to me. But even standing here, in this cold, filthy space, I can’t ignore the way it feels like everything’s a little… off. More alive. In ways I didn’t even know I wanted.
Behind me, she stirs, a soft groan escaping her lips. The sound shoots straight to my cock, immediate and unwelcome, especially given the fact that it’s more likely pain than anything else. I grit my teeth, swallowing down the reaction, but when I glance over my shoulder, the sight of her knocks the air from my lungs anyway.
Her brows are drawn, her lips slightly parted, dark curls spilling over the blanket I threw over her earlier. Even in discomfort, there’s something about her that gets under my skin, burrows deep, refuses to let go.
And for a moment, just one, it softens something inside me.
