The office was unusually alive that morning, humming with energy like it had been plugged into a current I hadn't noticed. Phones ringing, assistants hurrying past with stacks of files, hushed voices bouncing between glass walls. I'd barely taken off my jacket when I realized why—Elijah wasn't the only visitor today.
My stomach twisted before I even saw him. A whisper of his name moved through the corridor like the beginning of a storm.
"Kairo D'Angelo is here."
I froze by the reception desk, files clutched a little too tightly to my chest. I hadn't expected him. Not here, not now. Certainly not when the memory of last night's restless thoughts still clung to me like shadows.
And then I saw him.
Kairo stood at the far end of the hall, tall and impossibly composed, speaking quietly to one of Elijah's partners. He wore control like it was stitched into his suit, every line of him polished and precise. But when his gaze lifted—just for a moment—and met mine, the world seemed to fall into silence.
Heat rushed up my spine, sharp and unwelcome. I tore my eyes away, focusing on the papers in my hands, pretending they were far more important than the weight of his attention.
I turned to leave, but his voice cut through the noise, deep and smooth.
"Lyra."
Just my name. Nothing more. But it held me in place, my breath catching as I slowly faced him again. He excused himself from his conversation, walking toward me with the kind of measured confidence that made people step aside without him ever asking.
When he stopped in front of me, the air seemed thinner, like I had to remind myself how to breathe.
"You're avoiding me," he said quietly.
I blinked, caught between indignation and the ache of being seen too clearly. "I'm working," I replied, lifting the files in my arms as proof.
One corner of his mouth tugged upward—not quite a smile, but something close. "Convenient excuse."
"I don't need excuses," I shot back, sharper than I intended.
His gaze lingered on me, dark and steady, and for a moment I thought he might push further. But instead, he stepped closer—just enough that his cologne, clean and understated, brushed against my senses.
"You should be careful, Lyra," he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear. "Some lines… once crossed, can't be uncrossed."
The warning should have cooled me, but it didn't. If anything, it set fire to the air between us.
Before I could reply, Elijah's voice carried down the hall. "Lyra!"
I stepped back, pulse racing, relief and disappointment crashing together in my chest. Kairo's expression smoothed instantly, the mask sliding back into place as Elijah reached us, oblivious to the storm simmering in the space we'd just shared.
But even as I handed the files over to my brother, I felt it—the echo of his gaze still burning into me, as if Kairo hadn't let go at all.