Rayyan smirks "You sing like you've buried someone"Ishaal's gaze lifts "Only the living"
For a moment, silence hums louder than the rain. The kind that carries electricity something between warning and invitation.
He leans back in his chair, eyes like winter, cold, unreadable."You don't seem afraid," he saysShe tilts her head, lips curling slightly. "Should I be?"
His smirk fades. "Most people are."
She studies him the way an artist studies ruins fascinated by the brokenness, not the beauty."Maybe I'm not most people," she says quietly
Rayyan exhales a thin stream of smoke "No," he murmurs. "You're not"
And though they sit worlds apart predator and poet something invisible tightens between them.Not love. Not yet.Just curiosity, wrapped in danger, dipped in desire.