I can’t control whatever wakes inside me while we’re trapped on this island—lust,love, or the terrifying truth that I’m starting to forget why I think any of the things he’s done are wrong.
I know why he’s doing this. The first night we fell into bed together, we played Truth or Dare. It started as a joke, a way to test each other’s limits, but it turned into something else entirely.
An unraveling. A slow, torturous stripping away of walls until there was nothing left between us. Just skin, breath, and the kind of honesty that only comes when you’ve got nowhere left to hide.
Or so I thought.
Now, he’s using it again. But I don’t know if it’s to tear me down or to pull me closer. Maybe a little of both.
His eyes flicker with something dangerous. He’s always been like this, turning the simplest things into a game I never know the rules to until it’s too late. And yet, I play anyway.
I huff and cross my arms, pretending like my pulse isn’t racing. “Fine. Truth.”
His smirk fades, and for a second, he looks too serious.
Then he opens his mouth. “Has anyone else ever made you come as hard as I do?”
Of course, he’d go straight for something like that. I don’t even bother fighting the urge to roll my eyes, but when I answer, I decide to be honest.
I have a few questions I’d like to ask him myself, and if I want honesty, I know I need to be honest with him first.
“No,” I admit, my cheeks warming under his unrelenting gaze. “Not even close.”
He nods hesitantly, as if he expected the answer but wasn’t sure I would say it out loud. The look on his face is pure male smugness.
“Your turn,” I snap, desperate to shift the focus, to take back even a sliver of control. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” he replies without hesitation.
I pause, weighing my options, considering my question carefully. This is my chance to pry open the cracks, to peek inside the places he keeps locked away. “Why have you never tried to leave the Assembly?”
Ezra’s jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as silence stretches between us. For a moment, I think I’ve pushed too hard too soon, that he’s going to shut me out like he always does because I didn’t even bother easing into it. But then—slowly, deliberately—he exhales, the tension in his shoulders deflating just enough to make me realize just how much he’s been carrying.
“It’s not that simple,” he says finally, his voice rough, edged with something close to regret. “But I am trying now.”
I don’t expect that.
I should let it go. I should move on to another question, something easier, something safer.
But I can’t.
“How are you trying?” I ask softly, even though I’m not sure I want the answer.
He doesn’t speak right away. His gaze flickers to the candlelight between us, watching the slow, flickering dance of the flame like it holds the answer he’s searching for. When he finally exhales, it’s sharp, like forcing out something he’s kept locked up for too long.
If the Assembly is as dangerous as I know it to be, I could lose him altogether.
The thought of a world without Ezra Birkner in it makes my chest hurt.
He looks away, his fingers gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. “No follow-up questions,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “But just know that our little vacation here is more than just...” He trails off, his words insinuating so much without even finishing the sentence.
I reach for my glass of water, trying to process everything, trying to piece together the parts of this puzzle that still don’t fit.
“And Quinn?” I ask, hesitation thick in my voice. I have to know, and now is as good a time as any to press for an answer. “You didn’t?—”
“I didn’t hurt her,” he interrupts, his tone firm, unyielding. “I’dneverdo that. What happened to our family, with Stu... that wasn’t me.”
Our family.
