Guided by instinct, by the pull he could no longer deny, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against her cheek. Her skin was soft, cool like porcelain kissed by winter air. Khione's lashes fluttered, but she didn't shy away. If anything, she leaned into his touch
''Khione…" he murmured, her name leaving his lips with unfamiliar weight, as though saying it grounded him.
Her ice-blue eyes lifted to his, searching, steady. Then, without hesitation, she closed the gap once more.
Their lips met again, but this time it was slower, more deliberate—less of a storm, more of a flame that burned deep and sure. Nero's hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, while her own hand gripped the fabric of his shirt, clinging as though she might fall without him.
