The wind slammed through the Hollow like a warning shot.

Cold. Sudden. Deliberate.

Vael’s body tensed before his mind did—reflex born of too many years in places that punished softness. The shift in the air wasn’t just environmental. It was intentional. The Hollow didn’t like what it saw.

Neither did the part of him he’d buried under years of control.

His breath was still mingling with hers—close, too close—and her voice cut through the hush like a blade dipped in truth.

“You feel it too.”

God help him.

He did.

He felt everything.

The pull of her. The weight of her voice when she stopped hiding. The way her magic—quiet as it tried to be—wrapped around the moment like it didn’t want to let go. He felt it deep in his marrow, in the scarred places no healing ever reached.

And for one breath, one heartbeat, he didn’t care.

But then—

He remembered.

The Source. The orders. The reason he was here at all.

He remembered what would happen if she found out who he really was. What he was.

And worse—what he was meant to do.

A different kind of cold settled in his bones.

He didn’t move right away.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t bolt. But something in his gaze dimmed—just slightly. Like a door being quietly, carefully closed.

He drew a slow breath and stepped back—not much. Just enough to shift the gravity.

Just enough to not kiss her.

His hand lowered from her jaw. Not harsh. Not cold. Just… gone.

Withdrawn.

He let the space breathe between them again.

“It’s nothing,” he said, too quickly. Voice tight. Controlled.

A lie.

He could hear it in his own throat.

He didn’t dare meet her eyes. Not yet. Because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to lie again.

So he turned—barely. Just enough to reach for his drink. Just enough to build the wall back up brick by brick with quiet hands and practiced distance.

But it was already cracking.

“I should go,” he murmured.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t make it to the door.

Because the part of him that wanted to stay was still stronger. Still anchored by the brush of her thumb against his chest. Still haunted by the fact that—for one impossible moment—he’d let himself belong to something.

To someone.

And that someone was her.

He cursed himself silently. For the softness. For the slip.

For letting her become more than just a mission.

His jaw tensed. Eyes fixed on the glass in his hand like it might give him a reason to disappear.

“You should be careful,” he said finally, quieter now. Voice lower. Rougher.

Still not looking at her.

“With me.”

Not a warning.

A confession.

Because he wasn’t ready to tell her everything.

But he wasn’t going to lie about this—

He was dangerous.

And if he stayed, he would ruin her.

He was already starting to want to.

The shift hit her like a slap.

Not from his hand.

From his silence.

From the way his gaze dropped. The way his voice clipped. The way that beautiful, impossible vulnerability—the thing he’d finally handed her like it meant something—vanished beneath practiced restraint.

The Hollow felt it too.

The air turned colder. Thicker. Breathing wrong. Like the space itself rejected the lie. Like the shadows recoiled from the falsehood of “It’s nothing.”

Gods, she’d heard that line before.

Used it herself a hundred times.

But hearing it from him? After everything he almost gave her?

It burned.

For someone who claimed to hate closed doors…

He’d just slammed one in her face.

And the worst part? He did it gently.

That familiar flicker of betrayal flared hot in her ribs. Not because he owed her anything—he didn’t. But because she thought—no, she felt—that maybe she’d finally found someone who wouldn’t flinch.

Someone who wouldn’t vanish the moment she let her fire show.

But there it was.

Retreat.

Withdrawal.

A carefully crafted step back, dressed up in restraint and pretending not to hurt.

Her body didn’t move at first. But the light in her eyes did.

Flicked off.

Like a switch.

Her hand dropped from his shirt with slow deliberation, fingers curling once before letting go. No tremble. No plea. Just quiet dismissal, the kind born of survival.

“Right,” she said, voice smooth again. Too smooth.

Polished.

She took a single step back, then another—slow, graceful, deliberate. Like nothing had happened at all. Like he hadn’t just carved something open in her and then walked away from it.

“Of course,” she added, the curl of her lip forming something between a smirk and a warning. “Wouldn’t want you catching fire.”

The flirtation was still there—but this time it was sharp.
A blade dressed in sugar.

She reached for her drink. The same one she’d nearly forgotten between laughter and the weight of almosts.

Lifted it without flourish.

Didn’t offer to clink glasses.

Didn’t offer him anything.

Not this time.

The Hollow creaked above them. Low and ancient and disapproving. A gust of wind slammed the door against its frame without ever touching it.

It was watching.

Always watching.

She felt it settle behind her ribs as she lifted the glass to her lips.

“To careful girls,” she murmured. “And boys who only pretend not to be.”

Then she drank—slow, unrushed, eyes never leaving him.

Her magic, once gentle, coiled sharp beneath her skin.

Still tethered. Still lit.

But distant now.

Caged.

She wasn’t going to chase him.

Not when he made her feel like a mistake.

Not when she’d already done the impossible—
Let herself be seen.

And he’d chosen to look away.