The afternoon heat pressed down like a dare. The trees thinned into sunlit ground, the forest giving way to what looked like a natural track—almost begging to be raced across.
Alzan's grin came quick and cocky. "Perfect. Let's make this hike interesting." He jabbed a finger toward a ridge where the treeline broke into open sky. "First one up wins."
Simran narrowed her eyes. "That's at least a quarter mile."
"Scared?" Alzan nudged her shoulder, playful, taunting.
She lifted a brow, smirking. "Not even close."
Zain, leaning casually against a tree, didn't bother looking at them when he said, cool and even, "Winner gets more than bragging rights. Losers carry extra gear tomorrow."
"Done," Alzan shot back, already rolling his shoulders like he owned the race.
Junaid finally stirred, tilting his head slightly, the sunlight catching on his dark hair. His voice was quiet, but it cut sharp. "You'll regret it."
The mood shifted. The air tightened, vibrating with challenge.
Simran pulled her hair into a ponytail, her heartbeat racing for reasons that had nothing to do with running. Three pairs of eyes were on her—Alzan's bright with mischief, Zain's steady and calculating, and Junaid's unreadable but heavy.
She raised her hand. "Three… two… one—go!"
They exploded forward.
Alzan went off like wildfire, laughter spilling as he darted over roots and rocks. Zain's strides were fluid, every step deliberate, his silence almost eerie. Junaid kept to her side at first, his long strides unhurried, chest steady, his presence as much a weight as it was a push forward.
Her lungs burned, her legs screamed, but she refused to fall behind.
Alzan glanced back, his grin sharp and wicked. "Come on, sunshine! Don't make it easy for me!"
A surge of stubbornness jolted through her veins. Simran pushed harder, breath breaking. Out of the corner of her eye, Zain slipped past effortlessly, calm even in his speed, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.
Junaid let her move ahead, but the way his eyes followed her—intense, unyielding—made it feel like the race wasn't the only game being played.
They reached the ridge almost together—Alzan bounding onto the final rock with a victorious shout, Zain right at his heels. Simran stumbled in next, gasping for air, and Junaid arrived a breath after, perfectly composed, the curve of his lips betraying the smallest, knowing smirk.
Alzan threw his arms wide. "And that, my friends, is victory."
Simran dropped onto a boulder, heat pouring off her skin. Zain silently handed her his water bottle, his grey eyes holding hers for a second too long before looking away. Junaid, meanwhile, watched her without a word, amusement ghosting at his mouth like he knew something she didn't.
Alzan wiped sweat from his brow, grin unfaltering. "Dinner's on you three. Winner's choice."
Breathless laughter escaped Simran, cutting through the tension—but only a little.
By the time the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long, the ridge had gone quiet. A fire snapped to life in the clearing, sparks darting into the night while the waterfall roared faintly in the distance. Mist clung cold to the air, but the fire's warmth wrapped them together.
Zain, typically, had already vanished into his tent. Maybe sleeping, maybe pretending to. Junaid lingered on the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the fire as though it had secrets worth guarding.
Which left only Simran and Alzan in the glow.
He lounged lazily beside her, too close, his shoulder brushing hers with every shift. His shirt hung loose, firelight painting his skin in molten shades and glinting off the chains at his chest. Smoke and sandalwood clung to him, sharp, dizzying.
"You're staring, sunshine," he teased, not even bothering to look at her first.
Simran jerked slightly. "I wasn't."
"You were." This time he turned, brown eyes glinting, lips tugging at a grin. "Not that I'd ever complain."
She rolled her eyes, but warmth flushed her cheeks. "You're impossible."
"And you like me that way." His tone dropped low, edged with mischief and something darker, daring her.
Her body betrayed her—staying still, too aware of the heat tangling between them.
Alzan noticed. Of course he did. His grin slanted, slower, hungrier. "Relax. I won't bite." His breath skimmed her ear. "Unless you want me to."
Her pulse stuttered, nails digging into her palm.
"Alzan—"
"God, the way you say my name…" He laughed under his breath, low and rough. "You don't even realize what you do to me, do you?"
The fire popped, sparks flying.
He leaned closer, hand brushing her thigh in the faintest ghost of a touch—just enough to send her stomach flipping, just enough to undo her resolve. His mouth hovered a breath away, teasing.
"Tell me to stop." His voice was nothing but smoke and heat.
She didn't.
That was all he needed.
His lips crashed onto hers in a rush of wildfire—reckless, hungry, tasting of smoke and heat. His hand tightened at her thigh, pulling her against him until fabric wasn't enough to dull the ache of closeness.
She gasped, and he deepened the kiss, all fire and wild defiance, so shamelessly Alzan.
When he finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath sharp and uneven. His grin was sinful, smug, devastatingly hot.
"Our little secret," he murmured, thumb grazing her lower lip. "Don't worry, sunshine. I'm good at keeping secrets."
A branch snapped in the dark.
Junaid.
Simran froze, flooding with heat, guilt, and something even sharper.
Alzan only leaned back, stretching out on his elbows, smirk unmoved as if nothing had happened.
But Simran's lips still burned. And deep down, she knew something inside her had just shifted and not in a way she could undo.