Chapter 106: Between Bite and Burn
Afternoon
The kitchen still clung to memory — the warmth of grilled bread, the smokey whisper of seared meat, the faint laugh Aria hadn't meant to let slip. It lingered in the walls like a perfume, or a ghost. Something intimate, not yet spoken aloud.
Aria wiped a streak of oil from the counter with the edge of a frayed towel, the motion slow, deliberate. She should've felt restless — should've felt that familiar tug toward the next task, the next escape. But instead, she lingered in the rhythm of the space they had claimed. The floor was still uneven, the light too bright in places, but the quiet wasn't hostile. For once, it didn't feel like the world was ready to collapse around her.
Selene had disappeared into the spare room twenty minutes earlier with a vague excuse about gear maintenance. Aria knew that wasn't it. The silence Selene left behind wasn't tension — it was retreat. Not out of rejection, but something else.
Fear.
Not the kind that made people run. The kind that made people stay and not know what to do with the ache that came next.
Aria turned at the sound of footsteps behind her, not startled — just aware. Selene leaned against the frame of the kitchen doorway, arms crossed loosely, her gaze soft but unreadable.
"You really never cooked like that before?" Selene asked, voice low. Careful.
"Not like that," Aria said. "I didn't have to."
She met Selene's eyes then, her back pressed to the counter. There was no armor between them now. No false comfort of adrenaline or chaos. Just the two of them standing in a room where the air still smelled like garlic and closeness.
"You looked happy," Selene added. She didn't blink as she said it.
"It felt…" Aria searched for the word. "Quiet. Like my hands remembered how to be useful in a way that didn't involve pain."
Selene held her gaze for a long moment, then glanced away, as if the weight of Aria's honesty pressed too hard against her ribs.
"You want tea?" Aria asked softly, tilting her head toward the counter.
Selene snorted under her breath. "I want whiskey and a nap."
"But you'll take tea."
"I'll tolerate tea if you pour it like whiskey."
Aria smiled — one of those small, reluctant things that started in her mouth but lived behind her eyes. She turned, setting the kettle to boil. Selene watched her the whole time, not bothering to hide it.
When Aria passed her the mug a few minutes later, their fingers brushed — barely — but the contact sparked something quiet and living.
"I'm not fragile," Aria murmured, unprompted.
Selene's face didn't change. "I know."
The words landed like a vow. Selene didn't pull away.
They sat together on the couch again, knees just short of touching, hands close enough to feel each other's heat when the tea cooled. The hours slid past them, filled with small necessities — sorting packs, replacing bandages, checking water filters. It was nothing. It was everything.
Selene moved with precise efficiency, but her eyes drifted more often now. Toward Aria's hands. Her mouth. Her silence.
Aria caught her once, looking.
Selene didn't look away.
Later, Aria folded a blanket neatly over the back of the couch, smoothing the corners. Selene's jacket was still crumpled on the chair. Her boots beside the door. The domesticity of it all felt absurd — but also grounding. As if the world outside could still be held at bay by folded fabric and shared warmth.
Selene rose eventually, disappearing again into the spare room. The sound of gear being moved, clicked, unclicked, filtered faintly through the door. Aria knew better than to follow. She'd learned by now —bSelene didn't retreat because she was cold. She retreated because she was overheating.
But a few minutes later, she knocked anyway.
Selene's voice answered instantly. "Yeah."
Aria pushed the door open slowly. Her silhouette was lit from behind — shoulders square, hands behind her back, her stance more mischievous than hesitant.
Selene looked up from her dismantled sidearm. "What did you break?"
"I didn't break anything," Aria replied.
Selene arched a brow, unconvinced.
Aria stepped forward and revealed the item she'd been hiding. A black leather thigh holster — cleaned, restored, reinforced. The stitching shone subtly in the low light, and the edges gleamed with fresh oil.
Selene blinked. Sat up straighter. "Where did you get this?"
"I modified it," Aria said. "There were parts at the market. I know you haven't had a proper fit since we left Southside."
Selene took it carefully. Her fingers ran across the leather like it was sacred.
"You remembered the compression point," she murmured. "And the double - snap release…"
"I noticed the way you kept adjusting your backup rig," Aria said. "Figured you missed your real one."
Selene looked up then — sharply, like something in her had just cracked open.
"You did this for me?"
"Yes."
The answer was simple. Certain.
Selene set the holster down gently on the bed, but she didn't let go of Aria's gaze.
"I don't do well with people… thinking of me," she said, voice quiet.
Aria shrugged. "I'm not asking you to be comfortable. Just to wear it."
Selene took a step forward. Then another. Until she was so close Aria could see the shift of breath in her throat.
"Tell me to stop," she whispered.
Aria didn't move.
"I won't."
Selene's hand rose, tentative, then brushed along Aria's jaw. Slow. Reverent. Her thumb ghosted beneath Aria's lower lip — hovering, trembling just slightly.
Then—
Bang.
The sound hit like a detonation. A sharp, brutal knock against the apartment's front door.
Both of them froze.
Not a knock. Not the rhythm of a neighbor or scavenger. This was heavier. More deliberate.
Selene's face went stone - cold.
Another bang. Louder.
Then a voice. Muffled. Familiar.
"Well, well. Isn't this cozy?"
Selene's blood chilled.
She knew that voice.
Aria moved instantly, backing toward the side wall as Selene drew her backup sidearm in a single, fluid motion. Her main holster — the one Aria had just given her — lay abandoned on the bed. But Selene didn't need it now. She was already fire in motion.
"Get behind me," she said, her voice steel.
Aria obeyed without hesitation.
Another sound — metal scraping. A lock turned.
The door wasn't bolted.
Selene's mistake.
"Stay back," she hissed.
But it was too late.
The door swung open with theatrical slowness. A figure stepped inside. Tall, lean, clad in a clean black coat too pristine for anyone decent. His face was carved with arrogance, his hair slicked back with precision. One hand held a cane, the other rested lightly near a holster that wasn't quite concealed.
Selene knew him.
She'd watched him bleed out on the floor of a corridor in another life.
Aria stood behind her, tense but quiet, her breath caught.
The man smiled.
"Selene," he drawled. "Didn't think I'd find you this far east. And with company, no less."
Selene's grip on the pistol didn't waver.
"You should be dead," she said.
The man's smile widened. "Oh, I was. But you know how resurrection goes."
Selene's stomach turned.
He remembered.
This wasn't a stranger. This wasn't chance. This was memory — reaching through the cracks of a world that should have stayed dead.
And Aria had no idea who he was.
Selene stepped forward, shielding her.
"You're not welcome here."
"Come now," he said lightly. "Is that any way to treat an old friend?"
"I buried you myself."
"Yes," he said, eyes glittering. "And you did such a lovely job."
Selene's finger hovered near the trigger.
But the man didn't draw. Not yet.
He looked at Aria. Then back to Selene.
"She doesn't know, does she?"
Selene didn't answer.
"Ah," he said, grinning. "Still keeping secrets."
Aria stepped forward then, voice low. Steady. "Who is he?"
Selene didn't answer.
Not yet.
The man took a step forward.
Selene raised her gun.
The air was tight. Every breath burned.
Between them all stood the apartment. The tea gone cold. The holster on the bed. And the kiss that hadn't happened — suspended in the space between bite and burn.