And I hate that I never even considered it until now.
I don’t say anything, don’t try to fill the silence with empty words that won’t change anything. Instead, I shift closer, resting my head against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
He doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t tense.
He just pulls me in, arms tightening around me like he’s afraid to let go.
And maybe I should be afraid of what this means. Of what’s shifting between us, forming into something new and raw.
But I’m not.
I wonder if this is how it will be now, if this openness will last now that the worst of the secrets are out.
I let myself hope for a second, and I wonder how much more he’ll tell me.
How much more I even want to know.
Something rearranges itself in my brain, the constant dreadful feeling in my stomach unfurling, shifting into something else entirely.
We fall asleep like that, tangled together in front of the fire, the wind outside howling against the windows as the embers in the hearth slowly fade to nothing.
9
EVEN IF IT CAN’T LAST
EZRA
Kruz will not geta second chance from me.
It doesn’t matter that I’m completely gone for the woman and would likely do anything she asked of me.
Not that she knows that.
It’s probably for the best that she doesn’t, at least for now.
Allowing her to potentially put herself in danger is not an option.
It doesn’t matter if I’ve taken her away from the dangers of the Assembly and the chaos I’m certain is unfolding on the mainland, if she acts impulsively here on the island and ends up with cold shock—or worse.
The ocean is wild and unforgiving in more ways than one.
I gave her space because I thought she needed it—because I thought I could trust her to stay put, to keep herself safe. But after seeing her on that damn pier, looking smug and reckless, I know better.
She’s a brat, and in this case, it’s to her own detriment.
My throat tightens at the thought of anything happening to her.
She can argue all she wants. She’s coming with me today.
“Up,” I say, nudging her shoulder early in the morning. She stirs beneath the heavy blanket. I want to be more gentle with her, but I can’t leave any room for her to think she can worm her way out of this.
She groans, dragging the pillow over her head like a child refusing to go to school. “Go away.”
“Not happening,” I reply, grabbing her coat from the chair and tossing it onto the bed. “Get dressed. You’re coming to the lighthouse with me.”
Her head shoots out from under the pillow, her hair a wild mess. “What? Why?”
“Because you can’t be trusted to stay out of trouble,” I say simply, already buttoning my coat. “And I’ve got shit to do.”
