Kairo didn't remember leaving the party.
Not really.
One moment, lights blinding back on.
The next, the crowd's noise dissolving into static as Ayan vanished through it like smoke.
He should've let him go.
That was the smart move.
The safe move.
Instead, he found himself back in his car, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight the leather creaked.
He could still feel it.
The heat rolling off Ayan's skin in the dark.
The way his body trembled—not from fear. No, Kairo knew fear. He could smell it.
This was different.
Sharper.
Sweeter.
His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking slow.
> "What the hell are you hiding from me, ice prince?"
He laughed low, breath fogging the glass.
Didn't matter.
He'd figure it out.
And when he did…
Kairo leaned back in the seat, pulse pounding steady like war drums.
He could still see the way Ayan looked at him when the lights came back—eyes like knives, like glass about to crack.
That wasn't hate.
That was survival dressed as rage.
And survival meant weakness.
It meant walls with doors, if you knew where to press.
Kairo pulled out his phone.
Scrolled to Ayan's name.
Paused.
One word.
One push.
He could set the next step in motion right now.
His thumb hovered.
Then he typed—slow, deliberate, each letter a match striking in the dark.
> Kairo [12:47AM]:
You ran fast tonight.
Want to see if you can outrun me twice?
He hit send before he could think better of it.
Not that he would have.
Because tonight proved something.
This wasn't a game anymore.
And storms didn't ask permission.
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