The house had barely changed. Sarah could still trace the outlines of the night they'd last seen each other—the firelit room, the glass in her hand, the words she almost said. Tonight, the air was colder. Or maybe that was him.
She peeled off her soaked jacket and laid it on the chair near the fireplace. Her clothes clung to her skin. Ace watched her, his gaze unreadable, distant but sharp—like a wolf that remembers a wound.
"Did something happen?" he asked, voice low.
Sarah shook her head too quickly.
"No," she lied. "I just needed… to be here."
"You never come here without a reason."
"Maybe I don't need one anymore."
Ace stepped closer. The candlelight caught in his eyes, gold and cruel. He touched a strand of wet hair stuck to her cheek. "You're lying," he said quietly, but without anger. Just certainty.
Sarah swallowed hard. "So are you."
Silence stretched between them, the kind that hurt more than shouting. The house groaned as the storm outside pressed against its bones.
"I still have your key," she said. "I thought you'd change the locks."
"I thought you'd lose it."
That made her smile, faint and bitter. "You should've."
He turned from her then, walking to the fireplace. He lit it with a practiced hand, and the flames slowly woke, painting the room in restless gold.
"You can stay the night," he said. "But if you're keeping secrets from me… I'll find out."
Sarah didn't flinch. She knew he would. He always did.
She also knew he still burned—for her, for the past, for the damage they never fixed. And she burned too, in silence.