The alley was quiet now, save for the faint drip of rainwater sliding from rooftops. The bodies of the men lay groaning or motionless on the pavement, their threat extinguished as swiftly as it had appeared. Yet the silence that followed was no relief—it pressed heavy against Adair's chest, trapping her breath.
Dominic's hand still lingered against her jaw. Too firm, too warm, too dangerous.
She swallowed hard. "You shouldn't have come."
His thumb brushed—barely—against her skin before he pulled back, as if burned. "And leave you to them?" His voice was gravel, but it carried something softer beneath. "You think I could?"
She wanted to scream that he already had. That every doubt he planted in her heart was a wound deeper than any blade. But the words stuck, lodged behind the ache in her throat.
Instead, she whispered, "You hesitated. Back there… you hesitated."
The truth hit him. She saw it in the flicker of his eyes, the stiff set of his jaw. For a moment, Dominic looked less like the feared Wolfe of the city, and more like a man fighting demons no blade could kill.
"I'm not proud of it," he said finally. Rain dripped from his dark hair, sliding across his temple. "But I won't lie to you, Adair. I'm at war with myself every time I look at you."
The words seared her, both wound and balm.
Her chest tightened. "And what happens when the war ends?"
Dominic's gaze dropped to her lips—just for an instant, but long enough that her pulse leapt. He stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat of him even as the night air bit cold against her skin.
"Then," he murmured, voice low, "I pray to God I'll still recognize the man standing here."
The space between them trembled. His hand twitched at his side, as though every instinct screamed to reach for her again, to erase the distance he himself had built. And for one reckless moment, Adair thought he might.
But he didn't.
Instead, Dominic stepped back, turning his face to the blood-streaked pavement. "We should go. It isn't safe here."
The words were steady, but she saw the truth in his shoulders—the rigid set, the tension that refused to leave him. He wasn't pulling away because he didn't want her. He was pulling away because he wanted her too much.
Adair wrapped her arms tighter around herself, forcing her heart to still. She followed him out of the alley, her steps quick behind his. Yet with every beat of silence between them, she knew it was only a matter of time.
The fire had already been lit.