Trigger warnings *past relationship drama, swearing, dominatrix performance, implied sexual relations, testosterone fulled drama*
The living room was colder than it should've been. Maybe it was the night air seeping through the broken windows, or maybe it was the way every single one of us stood perfectly still—like we were waiting for something to explode.
They came in slow, careful. No sudden moves. Five of them total. Clothes loose, colorful in an odd patchwork way. Cloaks stitched from old scarves and torn t-shirts, boots caked in forest dirt. Some of them had feathers in their hair, glitter on their faces, the whole thing giving off a vibe that would've looked ridiculous if not for the power rolling off them like low thunder.
One of them, a woman with long dreads woven with beads, casually lit her fingertips on fire and snuffed it out again, over and over. Another leaned against the wall, flipping a coin that didn't seem to obey gravity.
They weren't hiding what they were.
They didn't have to.
The one in front—tall, wiry, dressed like a magician who got lost at Burning Man—had his eyes on Ardere the second they walked in. He grinned like he already knew the answer to a question none of us had heard yet.
"Dere," he said, his voice too soft and too familiar. "Didn't think I'd find you out this far. Not without a trail."
Ardere flinched. That alone set me on edge.
"You've been tracking her?" Lysander stepped forward, stiff-shouldered and ready to make this a fight.
The guy didn't even blink. "Tracking her grief, actually. Hard thing to miss when you know how to listen." His eyes slid back to Ardere, slow and hungry. "It screamed louder than most. And I figured... where there's grief, there's usually fire. Yours still burns hotter than anyone I've met."
He moved toward her then—too casually, like it was a reflex—and pulled her into a half-hug before any of us could react. His arms slid around her waist like he'd done it a hundred times before. Like he expected it to still be okay.
Ardere didn't exactly pull away.
Didn't lean in, either.
Just froze.
"You look good," Tallis murmured near her ear, like we weren't all standing right here. "Didn't think you'd survive the last time you burned out."
I hated the way his hands lingered on her back. The way his chin dipped just a little too close to her neck. The way his voice dropped like he knew every version of her—especially the ones I hadn't earned yet.
Riven shifted his weight beside me. I could tell he was watching too, even if he didn't say a damn thing.
"You two know each other?" I asked, keeping my voice flat. Calm. Not jealous. Not possessive. Just… curious. Sure.
Tallis pulled back just enough to flash a grin in my direction. "She used to run with us. Before she vanished off the map. Back when she remembered how to have fun."
That earned a small, sharp breath from Ardere. Like the kind you let out when you've been slapped but don't want anyone to see the bruise.
"I remember," Tallis added, still looking at her. "You always knew how to light up a stage, Ardie. You were electric. You could've had the world at your feet."
He meant it like a compliment. But it sounded like a warning.
And judging by the way Ardere finally took a step back, I wasn't the only one who felt that way.
"What do you want?" Riven asked, finally breaking the silence.
Tallis turned his attention toward him with all the flair of a guy used to winning people over with nothing but a smirk and a good story. "To help. There are people hunting you, yeah? We've felt them creeping around our woods. Suits with cold hearts and cleaner hands. You come with us, we offer you safety. Shelter. A place where people like us can actually live without pretending we're something we're not."
"And what's the catch?" I asked before Lysander could. My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't take it back.
Tallis spread his arms. "Just be who you are. That's it. Maybe put on a show once in a while. Tell a story. Burn a little magic in front of a crowd. It's not slavery, sweetheart. It's survival. Family."
He said family, but his eyes kept sliding back to Ardere like she was the main act he was hoping to reclaim.
And she still hadn't said a single word.
That scared me more than all of it.
Ardere didn't say a word until we were alone again.
She sat on the broken steps, elbows on her knees, eyes focused somewhere far past the crumbling floorboards. Everyone else gave her space without being asked. It wasn't hard to read the tension threading through her shoulders like steel cable.
"They call it the Grove," she finally said, voice low and flat. "It's not a town exactly—more like a gathering. A place where people like us go when we've run out of options."
Us. The word hung in the air longer than it should have.
"They've got water, food, beds. They barter, put on performances for outsiders. Magic shows, fire dancing, mentalist crap. It keeps them protected. Keeps people invested in keeping the Grove alive. If you're useful, you stay. If you're not…" She trailed off, then exhaled. "Well. You make yourself useful."
It didn't sound like a home. It sounded like a contract wrapped in a smile.
"And you used to live there," I said.
Ardere didn't answer right away. Then: "For a while. It was a place to be invisible while pretending to be seen. Tallis runs half the games there—he knows how to twist grief into something people will pay to watch."
I didn't like that I already knew which grief he meant.
Eventually, Ms. Marvos called us together. No theatrics, no preamble. Just her voice slicing through the room like a blade.
"We're going," she said, arms folded. "This place won't hold another week, not with how exposed we are. The Grove is a risk, but staying here is suicide."
I looked at Ardere. She wasn't looking at anyone. Just the floor.
We gathered just past the observatory gates, where the Grove's people waited like they'd already known our answer before we did. The carts were still creaking in the overgrown gravel, one of the horses chewing at something that wasn't even grass. Lanterns swayed from their poles, casting warm, welcoming glows that didn't quite reach anyone's eyes.
Tallis stood at the front of the group, hands in his pockets like he wasn't the one who showed up out of nowhere offering sanctuary in exchange for… whatever they weren't saying outright.
Ms. Marvos took a single step forward, her voice even. "We'll go with you. Just until we can get our bearings and figure out our next move."
Tallis didn't look at her.
His eyes went straight to Ardere.
And the smile that broke across his face made something twist in my stomach.
It wasn't just relief. It was satisfaction. Like a win.
"Figured you'd come around," he said, taking a few slow steps forward. "Didn't think you'd bring the whole neighborhood, though."
Ardere didn't return the smile, but she didn't flinch from it either.
Damn it, she looked like she'd seen it before. Like she knew exactly what that expression meant.
Tallis didn't reach for her, but his body tilted in her direction, drawn like a magnet he wasn't bothering to hide. And I watched—closely. The way his eyes raked over her with too much familiarity, too much ease. Like someone flipping through a well-worn chapter of an old book.
I crossed my arms. Didn't say a word. But I knew what that look meant. I knew what kind of history didn't need to be spoken aloud to be felt like a punch to the ribs.
It wasn't even the way he looked at her that made me want to break something. It was the way he looked at her like she was his again.
Like maybe she had been, once.
And he was betting she would be. Again.
No one else seemed to catch it. Not the Lysander, not Ms. Marvos, not the ones already loading packs into the wagons.
But I did.
I saw the way Tallis looked at her like a reunion. Like a prize.
And I promised myself right then, if he so much as breathed the wrong way around her—
He'd have to go through me.
——
The ride into the woods wasn't long, but it felt like an eternity.
Tallis and his crew moved with the ease of people who didn't fear being followed. Like the forest itself would swallow up any threat before it reached them. The path wound tighter the deeper we went—twisting between trees so old they looked like they'd grown out of stories and bone.
Our group was split across a few wagons. I sat on the edge of the one behind Ardere's. Close enough to watch her. Close enough to watch him.
Tallis rode beside her like he belonged there. Like no one had told him otherwise in a very long time. He was too relaxed in the saddle, one hand on the reins, the other draped over the back of Ardere's seat.
And she let him.
That was what got me.
She didn't lean into him, but she didn't push him away either. She laughed—once. Something quiet and breathy I could barely hear over the creak of wood and horse hooves. But I heard it.
I fucking heard it.
Tallis leaned closer. Whispered something in her ear that made her shake her head, grinning despite herself.
His fingers brushed her shoulder. Then her arm. Too casual to be innocent. Too familiar to be anything new.
I clenched my jaw, every muscle in my body going tight. My nails bit into the wood of the wagon rail. No one else seemed to notice—not the kids too busy staring at the trees, not Ms. Marvos who was deep in whispered conversation with the older teens.
But I saw it all.
Tallis's hand sliding lower. Resting on the small of her back.
Ardere stiffened for a second.
And then didn't.
She didn't move away.
She didn't even look at me.
They weren't talking like strangers. Weren't sitting like just friends. There was a kind of history between them that no one said out loud—but it was written all over the way he looked at her.
Possessive.
Like he'd had her once and wanted her again.
And for the first time since meeting her, I felt something I couldn't name. Not fear. Not anger.
Something colder.
Something deeper.
Because Ardere wasn't brushing him off.
She was letting him in.
And I didn't know what that meant for the rest of us. But I knew damn well what it meant for me.
The Grove looked like it had exploded out of a fever dream.
It wasn't a town so much as a sensory overload. Lanterns in every color hung from tree branches like fruit. Flags and ribbons wove between rooftops, each building painted in mismatched, blinding hues—purples, golds, aquamarines, and reds. There were no real streets, just packed-dirt trails winding through clusters of huts and cabins, stalls that sold smoke-laced drinks, and fire pits roaring with controlled chaos.
People danced barefoot in the grass. Laughed too loud. Drank from cups that glowed faintly in the dark. Music came from everywhere and nowhere, vibrating through the bones of the place like a heartbeat you couldn't unhear.
And the smell. Gods. Smoke, sweet things, sharp things. Herbs I couldn't name and things I didn't want to.
Tallis walked ahead of us like a man bringing home long-lost relatives, not like someone leading a bunch of half-starved strays into his territory.
"This," he said, gesturing with his arms like a showman, "is The Grove. Home of misfits, miracles, and mayhem. And for tonight? You're our honored guests."
A few people whooped in response, either overhearing or just joining in for the hell of it. Someone handed Tallis a drink, which he downed in one go without even breaking stride.
He showed us to a small cluster of cabins nestled near a quieter edge of the Grove. They weren't big, but they were solid. Private. Warm light spilled from the windows, and soft blankets waited folded on the beds. The air smelled like cinnamon and cedar.
"First night's on us," Tallis said with a wink. "Drink. Rest. Breathe. You made it."
I almost thanked him, until he turned to Ardere.
"And you," he said, voice lower now, more intimate. "You remember my cabin, yeah? Still the same. Little crooked door, corner by the north fire. Come by tonight if you feel like old times."
My stomach knotted.
The way he said it.
She didn't answer right away, but her mouth twitched like maybe she was biting back a smile—or a memory. I didn't want to know which.
But before she could respond, Lysander stepped forward.
"She's not going anywhere with you," he said, tone flat.
Tallis raised his eyebrows, only mildly surprised. "And you are?"
"I'm her brother."
A beat passed.
Then another.
I expected something to shift in Tallis. Maybe guilt. Maybe fear. Or that performative kind of humility assholes throw on when they know they've been caught.
But none of that happened.
Instead, Tallis's entire face lit up like he'd just been told he won the damn lottery.
"No shit," he said, grinning wide. "Lysander. The Lysander?"
He stepped forward, hand out like he was meeting royalty. "Man, I've heard so much about you. Ardere used to talk about you all the time. You're a legend."
Lysander blinked. "Uh."
"Seriously," Tallis said, gripping Lysander's hand like they were old war buddies. "I always said if I met you one day, I owed you a drink. You free tonight?"
Lysander glanced at me, then at Ardere, clearly thrown off. "I guess?"
"Perfect." Tallis turned like he'd just won some kind of challenge. "Let's go grab one now. I want to hear everything. And don't worry—your sister's safe here. No pressure, no weirdness. Scout's honor."
He winked at Ardere again—too smooth, too confident—then started leading Lysander toward the fire-lit heart of the Grove.
And all I could do was stand there.
Because I didn't understand how a guy like that got to talk about honor.
And I didn't understand how Ardere looked so damn calm about it all.
Everyone else split off—Riven off to explore or steal something shiny, Ms. Marvos giving a stiff nod before locking herself in her cabin like she was allergic to joy. Ardere lingered. Her fingers brushed the edge of the cabin doorframe, nails picking at the old paint like she couldn't decide if she should go inside or bolt.
I leaned my shoulder against the post beside her. "You settling here for the night?"
She gave me a look—eyebrows raised, cautious. "Where else would I go?"
I shrugged, pretending it didn't matter. "Couldn't help but notice Tallis seemed pretty eager to catch up. Invites you to his cabin like no time's passed." I said it light, like a joke, even though it wasn't one. Not to me.
Ardere didn't laugh. She let out a sigh, arms folding across her chest. "You think I'd go with him?"
"I didn't say that."
"No, but you were thinking it." Her gaze slid sideways. "You think I'm that easy to reel back in?"
"No," I said immediately, the word sharper than I meant it to be. "I think he thinks you are. And I don't trust people who look at you like they're picking out something to wear."
That got a breath of a smile out of her. Not much, but enough.
She turned toward the cabin door and nudged it open with her foot. "Relax. I'm not going anywhere tonight."
"You sure?" I asked, trying to keep it cool. "Because I could hang around. You know—make sure the place is ghost-free, monster-proof. Standard cabin security."
She snorted, shook her head, and flicked the porch light on. "You're such a dork."
"Can't help it," I said, grinning, even though there was still a knot in my gut. "Dorkiness comes free with loyalty."
"I'll be fine, Dorian," she said softly, hand lingering on the door. "I'm not fifteen anymore. I don't fall for old tricks just because they used to work."
That… made something settle. Not completely. But enough.
"Alright," I said, backing away. "But if he shows up here with flowers and a guitar, I'm legally obligated to punch him."
Ardere rolled her eyes but her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile. "Goodnight, Dorian."
I raised two fingers in a mock salute and walked back toward my own cabin, pretending that I wasn't already planning on keeping one ear open for footsteps that didn't belong.
****
God, the bed was soft.
Too soft, maybe, for a guy who had slept on whatever patch of earth was driest. But something about this cabin—the warped wood, the distant hum of laughter, the scent of smoke and sweet fruit in the air—lulled me under fast.
I'd meant to stay up. Meant to keep one ear tuned for footsteps or... anything. But the second I hit the mattress, my body shut off like it finally realized how tired I was.
And for once, I woke up not feeling like I'd been run over. My muscles didn't ache. My mind didn't buzz with static. I just... breathed. Deep and even. The sun was peeking through the window slats, warm and golden, and a breeze blew through the linen curtain like the world was trying to tell me today's going to be different.
I stretched out, smiled to myself, and thought:
She stayed.
She said she'd stay in her cabin, and she did.
That warm feeling lasted exactly ten seconds.
I stepped outside, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes—and froze.
Tallis was walking down the steps of Ardere's cabin. Barefoot. Shirtless. Smiling like he owned the goddamn world.
My lungs stalled. My stomach dropped through the floor.
No.
Tallis didn't even seem surprised to see me. He just adjusted the leather strap over his shoulder—whatever bag he'd brought—and strolled my way like we were old drinking buddies.
"Morning, Dorian," he said, with a lazy grin and no shame at all. "Sleep well?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My throat had gone dry and tight, the kind of tight that comes before either a scream or a punch.
"She still keeps that little dagger under her pillow," he went on casually, glancing back at Ardere's cabin like it was just a fun memory. "Nearly stabbed me with it for snoring too loud."
My jaw clenched so hard I thought I'd crack a molar.
She promised.
She'd told me she wasn't going anywhere. She said she wasn't fifteen anymore. That the old tricks didn't work.
But maybe it didn't take tricks anymore. Maybe it just took him.
I didn't know what was worse—that she'd lied, or that she hadn't. That she had stayed in her cabin like she said. And he had come to her.
Tallis tilted his head, studying me. "Hey, you alright?"
I managed a nod, teeth still locked. "Fine."
"Y'know, I never asked," Tallis continued, scratching lazily at his chest. "That scar she's got. The one under her ribs? Clean stitching. Real clean. Almost surgical. You know where she got it?"
That stopped me cold.
He wasn't being malicious. That was the worst part. He was genuinely curious. Like we were just two guys trading trivia about a girl they both happened to know intimately.
But that scar?
That wasn't his story. That wasn't something you tossed around like gossip.
"Yeah," I said, voice low. "I know."
Tallis raised a brow. "Well?"
My eyes met his. Cold. "She was protecting someone. Someone she cared about. Took a bullet for them. Almost died."
Tallis gave a low whistle. "Damn. Guess she's still got that fire in her."
I don't remember how long I stand there after Tallis walks off, grin still ghosting the air. My fists are clenched, nails digging into my palms, and my stomach's doing this sick slow roll like I've been punched somewhere soft.
I tell myself not to jump to conclusions. Not to be the jealous asshole. She promised, didn't she?
But when I finally force myself to head toward the main house, the scent of frying oil and spiced meat hits me halfway there. The Grove is already alive, voices and laughter spilling through the open-air gathering space like nothing happened. Like nothing ever happens here that scars you.
They're all seated under a weather-worn pergola wrapped in ivy and string lights. Plates of food are being passed around—sweetbread, roasted roots, charred fruit still steaming on skewers. Ardere is already at the long table. She must've slipped in through the other side.
She's sitting next to the dark-haired girl—who's now braiding strands of Ardere's hair like it's muscle memory. Ardere leans into it, smiling at something someone says. Like she belongs here.
I drop into a seat a few chairs down from her, and I can't stop looking.
Her shirt's loose—damn near slipping off one shoulder. Her neck is clean, I think. No bruises. No marks. But I don't trust it. I can't stop scanning: collarbone, visible ribs, her arms where the sleeves bunch up—any sign that something happened while I was out cold and she wasn't.
She catches me staring once. Just flicks her eyes toward me—cool, unreadable—and goes back to her plate.
That look makes my stomach drop harder than any bite mark would have.
Before I can figure out if that meant guilt or nothing at all, Tallis claps his hands twice, sharp and commanding. The table quiets around him like it's instinctual. The kind of control you don't earn from charm alone.
"Alright, alright," he says, eyes glinting as they sweep the crowd. "You've all noticed by now we've got someone special back in our ranks."
He raises his mug toward Ardere. "Welcome home, Vesper."
The crowd erupts. Some whistle. Others slap the table. Even the quiet ones smile like they just got the sun back.
Ardere's smile freezes.
I look at her. Hard.
Her jaw is tight now. Her hands have gone still in her lap.
But she doesn't correct him. Doesn't say don't call me that.
Tallis flashes his grin again—wide, white, weaponized.
"And since the stars are clearly aligned," he continues, "I was thinking… what better way to honor her return than a little show tonight? For old time's sake. Just like we used to."
More cheering. More banging on the table.
I swear I stop breathing for a second.
Tallis's eyes stay on her. This isn't a question. This is a dare.
And then Ardere lifts her chin and says, voice clear and smooth:
"Sure. Let's give them something to remember."
I don't realize I've gripped the edge of the table until someone asks if I'm okay and I almost flinch.
Because now I remember. I remember the way she said this life was behind her. The way she used to speak about Tallis like he was a wound she'd just barely stopped bleeding from.
And I know damn well she didn't agree just for the crowd.
She agreed for him.
Or maybe… maybe she agreed for me.
To show me exactly who she was before I ever touched her.
I don't say a word to her.
Not when her eyes find mine across the firepit. Not when Tallis wraps his arm around her shoulders like he's earned the right. Not even when she throws one last glance over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd like nothing's wrong.
I sit still, fists tight in my lap, pretending the half-eaten bread on my plate matters. Everyone else is smiling. Laughing. Like nothing's shifted. Like I'm the only one who felt the floor tilt sideways the second he called her Vesper.
I'm not ready to talk to her. Not yet. Not while my thoughts are too loud and my hands are too steady. That kind of calm? It's never a good sign.
So I move.
I catch the girl who was playing with Ardere's hair earlier. She's younger—maybe fifteen is by —mismatched piercings lining one ear and a waxy burn peeling across her wrist.
"Hey," I say, casual. Numb. "Vesper… she used to perform a lot?"
The girl beams like I've asked about a celebrity. "All the time. She was the reason most people came out here, honestly. People loved her shows. Screamed for her."
I nod. "What kind of shows?"
"Pain." She says it like she's remembering a favorite song. "She'd let people feel it. Her power, I mean. She'd push it into your head, your nerves, your lungs. Not just the idea of pain—actual agony. Beautiful stuff."
I stare at her. My stomach knots.
"She never missed. Her aim was perfect. She could make you think your bones were shattering without ever touching you. I saw people cry. Collapse. One guy said it felt like being skinned alive from the inside out." She giggles, eyes shining. "He tipped her so much after."
I turn before I throw up or punch something or both.
There's an older guy smoking by one of the carved support beams. Tattoos up to his jaw. Calm eyes like he's seen everything and didn't care for most of it.
"What's she doing tonight?" I ask.
He glances at me. Blows out a lazy stream of smoke. "If Tallis is joining her? Probably a crowd-favorite. One of the old routines."
"What does that mean?"
The man shrugs. "He'll be the show. She'll be the flame. That's usually how it goes."
I must make a face, because he chuckles. "Don't look like that, kid. It's not sexual. It's spiritual. Pain is a religion around here. And Vesper? She was a god to some of 'em. They begged to be destroyed."
I step back. My lungs are too full.
"She didn't just perform," he adds. "She converted people."
I walk away.
I don't remember where I go. Some place empty. Some place where no one's watching while I press my palms to my face and try not to scream.
She didn't tell me.
She didn't say a single word about this part of herself. Not the name. Not the crowds. Not the way people looked at her like she could give them death and they'd thank her for it.
The knock on my cabin door is light. Hesitant.
Like she already knows I'm pissed.
I don't answer.
I lie back on the thin mattress with my forearm across my eyes, pretending like that'll block out the storm brewing in my chest.
But the door creaks open anyway.
"Dorian?" Her voice. Soft. Careful. Like she's talking to a wild animal that might bite.
Smart girl.
I scoff and sit up, still not looking at her. "You shouldn't be here."
The door closes behind her. "Why not?"
I finally look. She's in that same black shirt from earlier. Too-big sleeves. Collar stretched from someone pulling on it.
I don't want to think about who.
I hate that I have to think about who.
"I'm not talking to you," I say flatly. "Not as long as you're still doing that show with Tallis."
Her eyes flash. "Seriously?"
"Dead serious."
She folds her arms. "It's just a performance."
My laugh comes out sharp and bitter. "You think I'm mad about a performance?"
She steps closer, jaw tightening. "Then what is it? Because you've been glaring at me like I stabbed your dog since breakfast."
I stand up. Too fast. The air between us goes hot.
"I don't care if you call it art, Ardere. You let people worship your pain like it's holy. You give them agony for fun. That's not a performance. That's—" I wave my hand, choking on the words. "That's self-destruction with applause."
She throws her hands up. "You don't get it. You don't know what it is. You've never even seen one!"
"I don't want to!" I yell. "I don't want to see you let that asshole wrap his hands around your throat while you play god for a bunch of freaks who want to bleed without the mess!"
"It's not like that!" she fires back. "It's not about him! It's about—" She cuts herself off, face flushed, breathing hard. "It's about control."
"No. It's about giving it up." I'm shaking now. "You let them hurt you. You let them consume you. You let him pull you back into something that nearly killed you!"
"You think you know everything?" she snaps. "You think you know who I am just because I sleep next to you at night and let you hold me when I'm scared? That doesn't mean you get to own me, Dorian!"
"I'm not trying to own you, I'm trying to protect you!"
"I don't need protecting."
"Bullshit!" My voice cracks. "You came back with his scent all over you. You flinched when I touched you. You didn't even tell me you were going by a different name! And now you're parading yourself in front of a bunch of people who want you to suffer! So yeah, maybe I don't know everything, Ardere, but I know enough to be fucking terrified!"
She goes quiet. Chest rising and falling like she just ran a mile.
I bite down on my next breath. My hands are clenched so tight my knuckles ache. "Why didn't you tell me?" I say, quieter now. Hurt leaking into the cracks. "Why didn't you tell me what you used to do?"
Her voice is barely above a whisper. "Because I knew you'd look at me exactly like you are now."
Like I don't recognize her. Like something's slipping between my fingers and I don't know how to hold on anymore.
"You say it's not a big deal," I mutter, "but you're wrong. It's a huge deal. Because it's not just about the show, it's about everything you didn't say. Everything you hid."
She steps back, like the words sting. Good.
"Maybe this was a mistake," she says, voice sharp with something that sounds too much like heartbreak. "Coming to talk to you. Thinking you'd understand."
I stare at her.
"I did understand," I say. "Or at least, I tried. But I can't keep pretending I'm okay with being lied to. I won't."
She opens her mouth—then closes it.
And just like that, she's walking away. Door slamming behind her.
The silence after feels worse than the fight.
Because now I don't know what the hell happens next.
****
A few hours had passed. Or maybe more. I didn't really care.
I lay there on the bed, arms crossed behind my head, trying not to punch the wall just for something to feel. The fight still echoed in my skull, every word we shouted slicing fresh into my ribs like they'd been dipped in acid. I was still running it all over in my head—overanalyzing every look, every stupid thing I said, every goddamn thing she didn't say.
Then came the knock.
No—it wasn't a knock. It was a slam, followed by the door creaking open before I could say a single word.
Riven strolled in with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball. He was holding something that looked vaguely like juice—or blood, who even knew with him—and his grin was so wide I wanted to staple it shut.
"Well, someone's been abandoned," he sang, plopping down at the edge of my bed like it was his.
I shot him a glare that should've lit him on fire. "Get out."
"Not a chance," he said cheerfully, taking a sip. "You're way too much fun right now. Watching you unravel like a shitty scarf? Honestly, highlight of my week."
I dragged my hands down my face. "What do you want, Riven?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Just came to check on the lovebirds. Heard there was a little spat—screaming, throwing things, you know, romance."
I groaned and turned away from him. "Go bother someone else."
"Oh no, no, no. I've got to tell you what I saw." His voice dipped low with gleeful drama, like he was about to share the juiciest gossip of the century. "Pretty sure I just saw our dear Vesper—" he emphasized her stage name with finger quotes, "—getting ready for her grand re-debut. Leather. Black. Tight. Laces and all. Real dominatrix energy. You'd love it if it wasn't actively ruining your life."
I bolted upright. "You're lying."
He laughed. "Am I? Go check for yourself. I mean, unless you're afraid you might actually see Tallis helping her zip up."
I stared at him, jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might shatter.
"Oh, come on," Riven said with mock sympathy. "You knew she had a past, right? Tallis wasn't just her ex, he was her co-star. That's stage chemistry, my friend. Hot, sweaty, probably covered in blood and glitter."
"Shut up, Riven."
"…You gonna stop her? Or are you just gonna sit here, sulk, and pretend like you're not picturing her on stage with him, moaning in faux-pain while a crowd cheers her name?"
I shoved him. Hard.
"Seriously, fuck off, Riven."
"Oh, come on—don't be like that," he said between laughs, rubbing his shoulder. "I'm just—"
The door swung open again before I could fully snap, and there he was. Tallis. Smiling like he owned the fucking world.
"Boys!" he greeted, arms spread like we were long-lost drinking buddies. "Show's about to start. Figured I'd give you the VIP heads-up."
He was dressed for it, too.
Tall black boots polished to a mirror sheen, leather pants that left nothing to the imagination, and a sleeveless vest with so many buckles and straps it looked like he'd just walked off the cover of some underground industrial metal album. His makeup was heavier than usual—kohl, gloss, smudges that made him look just this side of dangerous. There were even claw marks painted across his throat, like someone—her, obviously—had dragged their fingers down his skin mid-performance.
Riven whistled low. "Goddamn, you're looking like a snack."
Tallis winked.
And I… I hated that it worked.
Hated that seeing him like that—seeing what he got to wear with her—yanked me to my feet before my brain could catch up.
"You coming?" Tallis asked, grin sharp. "Wouldn't want you to miss your girl's big return."
Riven clapped me on the back. "Knew you'd cave. Misery's more fun when it's live."
I didn't say anything. I just stalked past them both, out into the dark. But Tallis's smug little smirk burned behind my eyes the whole way.
And I couldn't decide which one of them I wanted to hit first.
I kept hoping someone—anyone—would stop this.
Lysander, maybe, who would come in here and throw Ardere over his shoulder and carry her out even if she kicked and screamed. Marvos, barking orders and dragging her out of this mess himself. Araxie, even, all ice and fire, cutting through the tension like she owned it.
But the closer we got, the more obvious it became: they weren't coming.
Because they knew better.
This part of Ardere's life was a closed door. And if you didn't like what was behind it? You didn't open it. You didn't look. You stayed the hell away.
I guess I missed the memo.
The crowd was already swelling around the stage—voices buzzing with excitement, that strange cocktail of adrenaline and lust hanging thick in the air like smoke. People were dressed like it was a damn gala for deviant royalty: leather, lace, latex, masks, paint. Someone wore glowing antlers. Another had barbed wire tattooed around their throat like a collar.
And yet somehow we stood out.
Riven soaked it all in with a smile like he'd just walked into his own birthday party. I could practically feel him vibrating next to me. Me, though? I couldn't stop the churning in my gut, that cold, slick dread that had been tightening around my ribs since the second Tallis opened that door.
He gestured forward, parting the sea of bodies like it was nothing. People stepped aside for him. Whispered his name. I saw the way they looked at him—hungry. Reverent.
He led us right to the front.
Two perfect seats, center stage.
Reserved, apparently, just for us.
"Enjoy the view," he said, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned a little too close to me. "It's about to get unforgettable."
Then he disappeared behind the curtain.
And the pit in my stomach?
It dropped into freefall.
"I don't know what I was expecting," Riven whispered beside me, "but this? This is already the highlight of my year. Hell, maybe my life."
"Please shut up," I muttered.
He didn't.
"Oh come on, Dorian. You're gonna thank me for dragging your ass out of bed. I mean, we're literally sitting front row to Ardere Unleashed™. You can't buy this kind of emotional damage."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "If you don't stop talking, I swear to god—"
He leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm just saying… you think Tallis picked that outfit, or was it her idea? Leather, lace, those thigh straps? That thing with the neck—?"
"I said shut up."
Riven chuckled like this was the best comedy set he'd ever been to. "And you said you weren't gonna stay. So which is it, big guy? Walking out or hate-watching?"
I stood.
I didn't care how packed the room was. Didn't care if I had to climb over twenty strangers and punch Tallis in the face on the way out. I was not going to sit here and watch her—
The lights dropped.
My heart stopped.
And then she walked on stage.
Or no—glided. Like her feet never touched the ground. Like Tallis had woven something into her movements, her posture, her breath.
Everything about her—her skin, her voice, the goddamn air around her—lit up with him.
Power shimmered between them, invisible and sickeningly beautiful, lighting her up like a wire too close to a live current. It wasn't just her outfit—which Riven had unfortunately described with stunning accuracy—it was the way she moved in it. The way every breath felt choreographed. The way her fingers danced with invisible fire and the crowd practically leaned forward like they were starving.
Because that's what it was.
Tallis didn't just pull power from people—he made you want to give it. And Ardere—gods help her—was giving it.
Willingly.
That pit in my stomach became a void.
Because whoever said this was just some casual routine, whoever said it wasn't going to be laced with sin and sweat and barely-contained moaning magic—they fucking lied.
Tallis stepped out from behind her like a shadow made flesh, and the energy spiked. I felt it crackle across my skin. A cruel crescendo of pain and pleasure, ecstasy and dominance, built on the way Ardere arched her spine like she was born to break hearts.
She glowed.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Her magic—his magic—fused with hers and made her burn like a goddess mid-ascension. And everyone in the room felt it. Every eye locked on her. Not with awe. Not with worship.
With want.
And I—
I couldn't look away.
Even as it tore me to pieces.
And then she started walking through the audience.
The crowd parted like water. Some reached out, desperate for a touch. Others didn't dare. They knew better. Even the drunkest, loudest ones knew that getting too close to her while she was like this—while she was channeling—meant risking more than just a singed shirt.
They might bleed. Cry. Remember things they swore they buried.
And that was her power.
Ardere didn't just perform pain—she pulled it out of people. Offered herself like a vessel. Like a mirror. Like a damn invitation.
The first person she touched—a girl maybe a few years younger than her—crumpled the second Ardere brushed her hand against her cheek. No screaming. Just one choked sob, and she was gone. Collapsed into her friends' arms while the crowd rippled with awe.
The next person reached out voluntarily. A man this time. Ardere caught his hand, laced her fingers with his like a lover, and whispered something into his ear.
He started laughing.
And kept laughing.
Until it broke off into a scream.
Security got to him before he hit the floor.
No one stopped her.
No one could.
Tallis followed behind like a proud curator of his most exquisite masterpiece, but Ardere didn't need him anymore. Not up there. This was hers. The pain, the control, the aching pull she had on every breathing body in that room.
She moved through them like a storm that loved you just enough to let you survive it.
And then—
She was near.
I felt it before I saw her. The air shifted, too warm, too charged, like the seconds before a lightning strike. Her perfume—smoke and rosewood and fire—hit me like a memory I didn't want.
And she walked right past me.
Her shoulder brushed mine.
And she didn't flinch.
Didn't look.
Not even a flicker of recognition.
Like I wasn't even there.
Riven let out a slow exhale beside me. "Holy shit," he murmured. "She didn't even blink."
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
I felt like I was falling. Like the earth had dropped out from under me and I was still sitting perfectly still. My stomach in my throat. My hands trembling.
She kept walking, twisting a hand through a stranger's hair like she'd known him her whole life, and the boy collapsed to his knees with a quiet, wrecked gasp.
Ardere slipped back onto the stage like a closing trap—shoulders high, chin tilted, a predator draped in smoke and silk. Her eyes swept across the crowd like they were nothing. Like she wasn't still dripping in the remnants of other people's pain. Like she hadn't just walked past me like I was air.
And then Tallis stepped into the spotlight, too casual for someone with that much power slithering under his skin.
"Now," he purred, dragging out the word like a threat, "I think it's time we share the stage a little, don't you?"
The audience exploded—arms flying up, people shouting, climbing on chairs, begging to be chosen like it was salvation. Like touching the flame wouldn't melt them down to ash.
I stayed very still.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
But Tallis already had his eyes locked on me.
He wasn't scanning the crowd. He wasn't even pretending.
He'd made his choice before the words ever left his mouth.
And I was it.
"Why don't we bring him up?" he said, voice all sugar and gasoline, pointing like it had always been a command.
I didn't move.
I couldn't.
Two stagehands were already weaving through the audience toward me like they knew I'd need convincing. One of them grinned like he was in on the joke. The other just grabbed my arm.
"No," I muttered, yanking back. "I didn't agree—"
"Too late," Riven said beside me, already halfway out of his seat, clapping like a damn child. "Oh, this is gonna be so good."
I wanted to hit him.
I wanted to run.
But before I could do either, I was being hauled over the barrier, shoved up the steps, and blinded by the lights.
The crowd roared. Heat pressed in from all sides. Every breath felt like it burned.
And then Ardere turned toward me.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Her expression unreadable. No smirk. No glare. Just control.
And if I thought the last hour had been hell?
This was something worse.
Something intimate.
She came closer—not dancing, not stalking. Just… moving, like the stage obeyed her gravity. Like it bent beneath her feet.
My throat was dry.
I could feel every eye in the room, every soul holding its breath like we were about to kiss or kill each other.
"Oh," she purrs for the crowd, voice velvet and ice. "Tallis brought me a toy."
Laughter. Cheers. My jaw tightens.
The lights shift. Her hands, glowing with that signature pulse of hers—violet and white and violent—hover in front of me, like she's tasting my energy before even touching me.
"Do you want to play, sweetheart?" she asks, sickly sweet.
I don't answer. I can't. Not with the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
Tallis chuckles somewhere offstage like this is all some fucking charity event. Like this is his gift to me. And maybe it is. If I were into watching the person I care about undress me with their eyes while treating me like just another tool in their act.
She steps closer, fingers grazing down my chest. Not hard enough to hurt. Not yet. Just a tease. Just enough to promise what's coming.
"Don't be shy," she whispers, voice low against my neck. "You weren't shy when you kissed me goodbye last night."
That earns a whole new round of screams from the audience.
God.
And I hate it—how my breath catches. How my knees damn near buckle when she finally presses her palm to my ribs and lets her power sink in, sharp and beautiful and so damn her.
The pain is a white-hot star exploding behind my eyes. It hurts—but it's her. Her signature. Her rhythm. Her touch.
She lets it linger, draws it out like she's tasting me through it. And I can feel it—the twisted cocktail of pain and something too euphoric to name racing through my blood.
My hands clench at my sides. I won't give her the satisfaction of crying out.
But she leans close again, her voice slipping into my ear like poison. "Oh, come on, Dorian. Make some noise for me. You always were better when you begged."
Another round of cheers. Someone in the crowd moans. Riven's loud, delighted cackling cuts through the haze.
She pulls back, just a little, enough to meet my eyes.
I don't see my Ardere. I see Vesper. Starving. Smirking. Goddamn lethal.
And all the while, Tallis lounges in the wings, watching like a proud mentor—like he's done me a favor by reminding me I will never know this version of her the way he does.
The crowd is electric, chanting, screaming, ravenous for blood—or something worse.
Ardere—Vesper—tilts her head at me. There's something unholy behind her eyes. Fire and void and a kind of hunger that has nothing to do with food.
"You've always had such good manners, Dorian," she says, dragging her nails down my chest. "But this isn't the place for polite."
She raises her hand and the lights obey, dimming until all that's left is us. Her glow. My shadow. Everyone watching.
And then she strikes.
Her power lashes into me like a whip across my nerves—no restraint, no softness, no memory of love. Just raw, searing pain that floods my lungs and makes the floor sway beneath me. I drop to one knee with a hiss between my teeth.
She grabs my jaw, tilting my face up toward hers.
"Still so quiet?" she asks. "You always were my favorite canvas."
Another burst of pain shudders through my chest. My back arches. The crowd roars. I can't tell if they're horrified or euphoric.
I don't care.
I'm burning.
I'm hers.
I hate it.
I crave it.
She straddles me now, not touching, just hovering—every inch of her close enough to taste. Her breath ghosts over my ear.
"Tell them how it feels, Dorian," she whispers. "Show them how you break for me."
My hands grip the stage floor, splinters digging into my skin. My throat is dry, breath ragged. I open my mouth to curse her, to tell her she's gone too far.
But what comes out is a choked sound I barely recognize—half moan, half sob. Not from pain alone.
From loss.
From everything we used to be, weaponized into this.
She hums like she's pleased, then finally—finally—touches her lips to my neck, soft, reverent. Her power floods in one last time.
And it shatters me.
My vision goes white. My body locks. I feel every inch of myself come undone in her hands. Nerves fray. Muscles twitch. Something in my chest cracks open and spills out onto the stage floor like heat and grief and devotion I didn't consent to give.
It's too much.
It's perfect.
And then—quiet.
The lights return.
Ardere stands over me, composed, untouched.
I'm on my knees, gasping. Sweating. Shaking.
Destroyed.
The crowd is on its feet. Screaming. Laughing. Cheering like they've just watched a god bleed.
Tallis nods from the sidelines, slow and smug, like he's pleased with the show. Like dragging me onstage to be gutted by the girl I loved was some twisted gift.
Ardere doesn't spare me a glance.
She turns, struts to center stage, bows.
And I—
I stay on the floor.
Riven's laughter is the last thing I hear before the curtain falls.
And I wish to God it was the end.
But I know better.
This is just the beginning of my ruin.
The second the curtain falls, so does the act.
The sound of the crowd is muffled now, as if the velvet has sealed us inside a different world entirely. I'm still kneeling, my hands braced on the stage like they're the only thing keeping me from falling straight through it.
And then I hear her.
"Dorian—"
Her voice is different. Shaky. Real.
Footsteps rush toward me—barefoot, frantic, hers. I feel the heat of her presence before I see her. But just before she reaches me, another set of footsteps cuts across the stage.
"Ardere."
Tallis.
She halts like a puppet whose strings just tangled. I don't look up—I can't—but I feel the shift in her energy like a sudden storm turned back into rain.
Tallis speaks gently, like someone soothing a child. "You always get anxious after a big show. It's normal. You did beautifully."
"But I—he's—" Her voice cracks.
He places a hand on her shoulder. I hear the rustle of her costume as she turns slightly toward him, resisting the grip but not breaking it. "Ardere," he says again, firmer this time. "You gave them what they came for. You don't need to explain yourself. Not to anyone."
Silence.
I clench my jaw so tightly it aches. My body feels too heavy to move, like it's full of lead and shame and that damn voice inside me whispering that maybe I deserved it.
Maybe I wanted it.
I can't even begin to sort through what the hell I'm feeling. Rage? Desire? Humiliation? Love twisted so violently it doesn't look like love anymore?
I hear her step back.
"Dorian," she says again, quieter this time. Like maybe she knows I won't answer. Like maybe it hurts her to see what she did.
And still.
She doesn't reach me.
Tallis's grip tightens, and I finally lift my head enough to see it—his hand firm on her waist, his face turned just enough to whisper something only she can hear. Whatever it is, it makes her flinch.
Then she's gone. Pulled offstage by Tallis's steady, rehearsed hands. Just like that, the curtain has taken her away too.
And I'm left here.
Still on my knees.
Still in pieces.
——
The grass is wet beneath my knees, slick with dew or maybe spit or maybe blood—I can't tell anymore. I retch again, harder this time, my whole body convulsing as what's left in me spills out into the dirt. My throat burns. My ribs scream. My spine feels like it's been carved hollow.
Riven stands a few paces behind me, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching with an expression I can't place. Not pity. Not amusement. Something heavier. Something quieter.
"I told you," he says, voice low and even. "She doesn't hold back."
I spit bile. "No shit."
The wind cuts through the field like it's trying to skin me alive. My shirt's torn open, sticking to the blood down my back. My legs won't hold me anymore. I try to stand and immediately collapse, my palms digging into the earth like it might forgive me for letting her do that to me.
Riven sighs. "Alright, enough of this tough guy act." He crouches, looping one of my arms over his shoulder. "You're bleeding through your side and limping like a shot deer. Let's get you back to your cabin before you collapse in something more poetic."
"I can walk," I mutter, though I'm barely upright.
He ignores that. "Sure. And Ardere's gentle."
I laugh—and immediately regret it. Pain knifes up through my ribs and I choke on the sound.
We move like that: me half-conscious and trembling, Riven half-carrying me through the tall grass under a bruised sky. Every step feels like a crack splitting wider in me. My knees buckle twice on the way up the slope, but Riven keeps me on my feet with the kind of practiced ease that says this isn't the first time.
"She didn't mean it like that," I mutter, unsure if I'm defending her or myself.
"You don't have to do that," Riven replies, more gently than I expect. "We both saw what happened."
"She changed when the curtain fell."
"Yeah," he says. "But that doesn't mean what happened didn't happen."
Silence.
By the time we reach the cabin, I'm barely conscious. The stars above spin and blur, and my whole body feels like it's vibrating with the aftershocks of her voice, her hands, her weight on my chest like guilt.
Riven kicks the door open and drags me to the couch. I groan, muscles locking as he sets me down. "You want me to go find her?"
I shake my head. "No."
I think I need to breathe first. I think I need to feel like a person again before I face whatever the hell that was. The door creaks behind Riven, and I close my eyes, ready to let the quiet bury me. But it doesn't last long.
There's the sound of pounding feet. A breathless voice.
"Riven—Riven, please—I need to see him—"
Her voice hits me like a goddamn whip.
The door flings open.
And there she is.
Ardere stands in the doorway like she never left the stage. Still in that costume—corset laced so tight it looks like it's holding her together, leather clinging to her like a second skin, high boots smudged with dirt from running. The lights are gone, the curtain's down, but she looks exactly like she did when she was crushing me beneath her heel—not metaphorically.
But her face—it's not the same.
Her face is Ardere again. Not her. Not the persona. Just a girl who's breaking right in front of me.
"Oh my god," she breathes, hands flying up to her mouth. "You're bleeding—Dorian, I didn't know it was that bad—I never would've—I didn't mean—Tallis said it needed to be real—he said they'd feel it more if I pushed you farther, and I didn't think—"
"Ardere," I rasp. My voice is wrecked. "Please… just change."
She freezes. Like she forgot what she was wearing.
I look away, vision blurring. "I can't look at you like that right now."
There's a beat of silence so sharp it could slice skin. Her breathing stutters. Her boots squeak softly on the floor as she turns to leave.
"Oh my God," Riven slaps a hand over his face, finally breaking the silence. "Ardere how's the boy supposed to recover when you're giving him a hard on?"
I groan, dragging a pillow over my face.
"Riven—" Ardere snaps from the hallway, half horror, half heat.
"What?" he calls back, laughing. "I call it like I see it."
"Out," I choke. "Both of you."
But Ardere's not going anywhere. Not now.
She steps in, cautiously, like she's approaching a wounded animal—and maybe she is. Her eyes search me like she's counting every bruise, every shake in my limbs.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers, voice breaking. "I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't even want to do the show this time. But Tallis—"
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don't know if it's from pain or confusion or betrayal.
She kneels next to the couch, hands trembling as they hover over my ruined side. "Please don't hate me."
"I don't," I say, and it feels like lying and bleeding at the same time. "But right now, I can't forgive you either."
She nods, slow and devastated. Like she already knew.
Outside, Riven hums a dramatic funeral dirge. Because of course he does.
And I close my eyes again, wondering if I'll ever be able to look at Ardere without flinching from the echo of her voice screaming in my ears, the burn of her nails down my chest, or the way I liked it—even when it felt like I was dying.
The silence stretches between us—me on the couch barely stitched together, Ardere kneeling like she's praying to a version of me she hopes still exists.
But I can't take it anymore.
"Is Tallis going to be in your cabin tonight?" I ask, quiet. Flat. No emotion, because I can't afford any.
Her eyes jerk up to mine. And for a second, she doesn't say anything.
Doesn't say no.
She hesitates.
And that's all I need.
Something inside me shuts like a vault door. Heavy. Final. Irrevocable.
I nod, once, like that's enough closure. Like it doesn't feel like my ribs are caving in all over again. "Got it."
"Dorian, wait—I didn't say—"
"You didn't have to."
I shift, turning my body away from her as much as my injuries allow. The cold creeps in immediately. But it's better than feeling the heat of her still dressed like that. Better than remembering how she made me crawl, then kissed me after like it meant something.
She reaches out, fingertips barely grazing my arm. "It's not what you think. I just—"
I squeeze my eyes shut. "You've already made it clear who you're choosing to share your bed with. I'm not going to compete."
And then—
"Oh god, this again," Riven groans from the porch. "You two really need a better safeword than Tallis. It's not working anymore."
Neither of us responds.
Riven continues, as if the tension in the room is just a bad smell he's decided to lean into.
"Ardere, just admit it—you've got some freaky primal thing for guys you can't emotionally process. And Dorian, babe, I love you, but if your kink is getting obliterated and then emotionally neglected, maybe she is your soulmate."
"Riven," I growl.
"I'm helping," he insists. "This is couple's therapy. Brutal honesty is key."
Ardere stands, finally. Her voice is soft but fierce. "Riven, go home."
"I live like five feet away ."
"Then find a fire to walk into."
I don't watch her leave. I just listen to her boots clack down the steps, fading, then stopping—like she's not sure where to go now that she's not welcome anywhere.
And for one terrifying second, I almost call her back.
But I don't.
Because her silence already answered the question.
And the bruise across my ribs throbs like it agrees.
I shouldn't be here.
I know that.
I should've turned around the second I saw them. The second I heard his voice.
But something in me—something bitter and breaking—needed to know.
I needed to hear it from her mouth. Needed to confirm the thing that's been rotting in my gut since last night.
The moonlight bleeds through the trees like a half-dead eye. I crouch low behind the thick of the pines, every bruise on my body howling as I shift to see them clearly. Ardere stands outside her cabin, arms folded, looking like she's trying to wrap herself in her own skin.
And Tallis... Tallis is lounging on the steps like he owns the place. Like he owns her.
"I'm serious," Ardere says. Her voice cracks on the edges. "You shouldn't have brought him on stage like that. You crossed a line."
Tallis just smiles. Of course he does. That smug little half-laugh he does when he knows he's winning.
"Come on," he says, stepping down toward her, lazy. Confident. "You're overreacting. It was a moment. Dramatic tension. You can't tell me it didn't make the crowd go wild."
"You humiliated him."
Her voice sharpens, and for a second I feel it—this weird flicker of hope that maybe she still cares.
"And you stood there," he counters, brushing a bit of her hair back like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You didn't stop it. You didn't even look away."
He leans in slightly, voice dipping. "You watched the whole thing. And after? Last night—"
He chuckles under his breath, low and vile.
"—you can't tell me that wasn't worth it."
My heart caves in on itself.
Ardere flinches. "Don't," she whispers.
"What?" he says, all faux innocence. "I'm just saying… last night was good. You were shaking so bad. You fell asleep in ten minutes, on top of me, might I add. I'm not gonna pretend that didn't mean something."
Her silence kills me more than any confirmation could.
He steps in, fingers trailing her wrist. "You're exhausted. You've been clawing your way through every damn second of this day. And for what? Another sleepless night alone?"
He tilts his head, voice a murmur now. "Let me stay. Just for tonight. You know I help. You know I do."
"Let me come inside," he says again, low and coaxing. "Just tonight. I'll stay on the couch. I won't touch you unless you ask. You remember how easily I can help you fall asleep, don't you?"
She stares at the cabin door behind him.
"Remember how I used to hold you when you couldn't breathe? When nothing else worked?"
Ardere doesn't move. She doesn't even breathe.
I want her to slap him. I want her to scream at him. To run.
But her hands come up.
And instead of pushing him away—
They rest on his chest.
Faint. Barely there. But still.
He kisses her.
And she lets him.
I turn away.
I think I might throw up. Or scream. Or just keep standing here forever until I collapse from whatever the hell this is inside my chest.
He pulls back from the kiss like he's never been told no in his life.
"I'll stay on the couch," he murmurs. "Unless, of course, you ask otherwise."
The porch groans under her weight as she climbs the steps. Her shoulders are tight, her head down.
She doesn't tell him to leave.
She opens the door.
And Tallis follows her in.
The door shuts.
Lights out.
And that's it.
I'm still here.
Rooted to the ground like a grave marker.
Too tired to cry.
Too angry to scream.
Too fucking stupid to have ever believed I could compete with someone like him.
I fold my arms across my ribs, squeezing the ache down.
I guess that answers my question.
And maybe tomorrow, if I'm lucky, I'll forget how it felt to be replaced in real time.