The weekend stretched before Sophie like a battlefield she didn't know how to cross. After Friday night in the library, her mind wouldn't rest. She had seen too much—heard too much. Marcus's words replayed like an echo she couldn't silence: Because I can't.
He had said it without his armor. Without the smirk. Without the cruelty. And that terrified her more than any insult he had ever thrown.
But fear wasn't the only thing blooming inside her. There was something else, something far more dangerous: curiosity.
What did it mean to him? What was she to him?
Saturday dawned with brittle sunlight cutting through thin clouds. Sophie buried herself in chores and books, trying to push Marcus out of her thoughts. By evening, she couldn't sit still. The walls of her room closed in, too full of silence and ghosts.
She decided to walk.
The town was quiet, streets still damp from last night's rain. Autumn leaves stuck to the pavement, the air sharp with the smell of woodsmoke. Sophie kept her jacket tight around her, moving without direction.
She didn't expect to see him.
But there he was.
Marcus leaned against the brick wall of the closed music shop, hood pulled low, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. His posture was lazy, but his eyes—when they lifted to hers—were anything but.
Sophie froze, heart hammering.
He smirked, exhaling smoke that curled into the cool air. "Didn't know ghosts walked after dark."
She wanted to turn, to walk away before he could unravel her. But her feet betrayed her, carrying her closer.
"You shouldn't smoke," she said, her voice sharper than intended.
He raised a brow, amused. "You sound like a teacher."
"It'll kill you."
He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot. "Maybe I don't care."
The words were careless, but his eyes weren't. Sophie felt the weight behind them—something reckless, something raw.
"Why are you out here?" she asked quietly.
Marcus shrugged, pulling his hood back. "Could ask you the same."
"I needed air."
"Me too." His gaze lingered on her, unreadable. "Funny how we always end up in the same places."
Sophie's chest tightened. "It's not funny."
"No," he said softly. "It's not."
They walked together without speaking, their steps echoing in the empty streets. Sophie tried to focus on the crunch of leaves underfoot, on the sharp bite of the wind. But every sense was tuned to him—his nearness, his presence, the way he carried silence like a weapon.
Finally, she stopped beneath the glow of a streetlamp. "Why are you doing this?"
Marcus turned to her, brows lifting. "Doing what?"
"This." She gestured between them, her voice breaking. "You torment me in front of everyone, and then… then you say things that make me think—"
Her throat closed, too full of words she couldn't untangle.
Marcus stepped closer, shadows cutting across his face. "Make you think what?"
"That you're not the monster you want everyone to believe you are," she whispered.
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening.
"You don't know me, Sophie."
"Then let me," she said before she could stop herself.
The words hung between them, shocking even her.
Marcus froze. For a heartbeat, the mask slipped, leaving his face bare—haunted, conflicted, burning. He looked like he might break.
Then he laughed, sharp and hollow. "Careful what you wish for."
Sophie flinched, but she didn't step back. "I'm not afraid of you."
His smile curved, dangerous and slow. "You should be."
And yet—his voice cracked on the last word, betraying him.
They stood there in the cold, the tension between them thick enough to choke. Sophie's breath came fast, her body trembling with fear and something she couldn't name.
Finally, Marcus dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "Go home, Sophie."
"I don't take orders from you."
That earned her a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Stubborn."
"Broken," she corrected softly.
His expression shifted, pain flickering before he masked it again. "Maybe that's why I can't stay away."
The confession stunned her.
Marcus turned abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Go home," he repeated, his voice rough. Then he disappeared into the shadows, leaving her beneath the streetlamp, her heart a wildfire she couldn't extinguish.
Back in her room, Sophie sat at her desk, notebook open. Her hand shook as she wrote:
He is fire and smoke, shadow and ruin.He says I should fear him.But all I fear is that I don't.
She dropped the pen, staring at the words until they blurred.
Because deep down, she knew the truth.
She was already burning.
And Marcus Hale was the match.