The balcony railing was cold beneath Sasha's hands. She gripped it hard, grounding herself against the weight pressing on her chest.
The laughter from inside still echoed, even with the sliding doors closed. Their voices didn't fade easily. Neither did the freeze-frame burned into her mind—her face twisted into the perfect villain's mask.
"Thought I'd find you out here."
She stiffened. Ethan's voice.
A moment later, he stepped onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him. The muffled buzz of the others dulled into background noise, leaving only the two of them under the night sky.
"You saw it too," Sasha said flatly.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned on the railing beside her, close but not too close. "Yeah. I saw it."
She laughed bitterly. "Congratulations. The girl who ghosted you is officially America's favorite snake. Guess that makes things easier for you. You can hate me without guilt now."
"I don't hate you." His words came fast, sharp, like he'd been waiting years to say them.
Her head snapped toward him, startled.
He looked away, jaw tight. "I tried to. God knows I tried. But hate's clean. Simple. What I feel when I look at you isn't simple."
Her pulse stumbled. The Sasha who could always find the right quip, the perfect mask, went silent.
"You're letting them win," he continued, his voice lower now, rougher. "You're letting them tell you who you are. That's not the Sasha I knew."
"The Sasha you knew," she whispered, "is gone."
He turned then, eyes locking with hers, fierce and unflinching. "No. She's right here. She's just hiding."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to argue, wanted to laugh it off, but the way he looked at her—like she was still worth saving—burned through her defenses.
For a suspended moment, neither moved. The night air wrapped around them, the cameras nowhere in sight. Just two people, teetering on the edge of something dangerous.
And then Ethan's hand brushed hers on the railing, a fleeting touch, but enough to send sparks racing up her arm.
Sasha's breath hitched.
"Ethan…" she started, but the door slid open.
A PA stuck their head out, cheerful and oblivious. "Hey, you two! Producers want you in the lounge. Time for the group debrief."
The moment shattered. Again.
Sasha pulled her hand back, mask snapping into place. "We should go," she said, her voice too even.
But as she walked past him, she could still feel the ghost of his touch. And she hated how much she wanted more.