The silence after bloodshed was always the loudest.
They had made it through the ruins by dawn, slipping past the assassins who still prowled the streets like wolves. Selene had led the way, every movement precise, ruthless, untouchable. Ethan followed, body aching, his Core restless under his skin.
Now they sat in the hollow of a burned-out train station, shadows stretching long across the cracked tiles. The air reeked of rust and mold. Wind howled through shattered windows. They were alone. Finally.
Ethan leaned against a broken pillar, chest heaving, his thoughts circling like vultures. He could still feel her — Selene's body pressed against his in that crawlspace, her hand steadying his chest, her breath on his neck. He could still hear her whisper, Look at me.
And he had. And in that moment, she was the only thing tethering him to sanity.
Now, with the danger passed, the tether burned.
Selene crouched across from him, cleaning her blade with an almost surgical calm. Not a word, not a glance. Her focus was absolute, as if the closeness of the night before hadn't happened.
It infuriated him.
"You're too calm," Ethan muttered, voice rougher than he intended.
Her eyes flicked up, sharp and unreadable. "Because panicking gets you killed."
"That's not what I meant."
Selene stilled, the cloth pausing against her blade. "Then say what you mean."
Ethan's jaw clenched. He hated how reckless the Core made him feel — how it stripped away his caution and dragged his emotions raw into the open. He should've bitten his tongue. He should've looked away. But instead, the words spilled.
"You held me there. In the dark. Like I was—" He stopped, teeth grinding.
"Like you were losing yourself," Selene finished for him, her tone flat. She returned to her blade. "Which you were."
His pulse spiked. "That's not all it was."
The silence stretched. She didn't look up. Didn't deny it either.
The Core whispered, sly and mocking: She felt it too. She won't admit it, but her pulse betrayed her.
Ethan shoved the thought down, but his body betrayed him — every nerve alight, every breath shallow. The memory of her touch wouldn't leave him.
"Damn it, Selene," he rasped, pushing off the pillar. He crossed the space between them before he could think better of it. She looked up at him just as he reached her, eyes flashing — not fear, but warning.
"Don't," she said softly.
But he already had.
Ethan's hand caught her wrist, tugging her up from her crouch. For a heartbeat they were inches apart, close enough he could see the faint scars along her jaw, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. His Core pulsed with hunger — not for blood this time, but for her.
Before he could stop himself, he leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, raw, born of exhaustion and adrenaline and the unbearable weight of wanting. Her lips were cold at first, still as stone. But she didn't pull away.
For one dangerous second, the world fell silent. No Core. No assassins. Just the taste of her, the electricity burning in his veins, the terrifying relief of touching something real.
Then Selene broke it.
She shoved him back, not violently, but firm enough to draw a line. Her breathing was sharp, unsteady. Her eyes — those guarded, steel-gray eyes — burned with something he couldn't name.
"Don't ever mistake survival for attachment," she said, her voice low, steady, too steady. "You want me now because you're scared, because the Core makes you restless, because death brushed too close. But this—" She gestured sharply between them. "This will destroy us both if you let it."
Ethan's chest ached. His lips still burned with her taste, and every word she spoke felt like glass against his skin.
"You didn't stop me," he said quietly.
Her jaw tightened. "That was my mistake."
"No," he shot back, the Core twisting in him, feeding on the tension. "That was the most honest thing either of us has done since this apocalypse began."
For the first time, her mask cracked. Just barely. A flicker of something — longing, fear, rage — crossed her face before she locked it away again.
She stepped back, slipping her blade into its sheath with a final, decisive snap. "Get used to disappointment, Ethan. Attachment gets people killed. And I'm not dying for you."
The words hit harder than any wound. But worse than her rejection was the way his Core laughed inside him — dark, triumphant.
She steadies you. She resists you. But she is yours to claim. Sooner or later, you'll break her walls.
Ethan clenched his fists until his knuckles ached. He wanted to scream. He wanted to grab her again. He wanted—
Instead, he turned away, dragging in a ragged breath.
"Fine," he muttered. "But don't expect me to pretend it didn't happen."
Selene didn't reply. She only adjusted her rifle, her silence colder than steel. But Ethan saw the tremor in her hands before she hid them in her pockets.
She wasn't untouched.
She wasn't as invulnerable as she wanted him to believe.
And that was enough to keep his hunger burning long after the kiss was over.
The hours crawled by in silence.
They didn't speak as they moved through the ruins, but the air between them carried the weight of unspoken things. Every step was an echo of that kiss, every glance a battlefield neither dared to acknowledge.
Ethan walked behind her, his fists jammed into his pockets to keep from reaching for her again. He hated how reckless he'd been, hated that he could still feel the imprint of her lips on his. But more than that, he hated the way his chest ached when she refused to look back at him.
The Core purred, feeding on the ache. She pretends indifference. But her blood quickened. Her hands trembled. She is already yours, even if she denies it.
"Shut up," Ethan muttered under his breath.
Selene glanced over her shoulder at the sound, eyes narrowing. "What?"
"Nothing." His jaw tightened. "Just… talking to myself."
"Dangerous habit," she replied coolly. Her pace didn't falter.
He wanted to snap back, to tear through her calm exterior, to force her to admit what had just happened wasn't nothing. But Selene wore her silence like armor, and every word he threw at her would only make her fortify it more.
When they finally stopped to rest, the sun had dipped low, painting the ruined skyline in bleeding hues of red and gold. They found shelter in the husk of an old office building, the glass shattered, the floors littered with paper turned to pulp by years of rain.
Selene set her rifle against the wall and crouched near a broken window, scanning the streets with her usual vigilance. Ethan sat a few feet away, his body wound tight, his thoughts screaming louder than the Core itself.
He couldn't take the silence anymore.
"You're lying," he said suddenly.
Her head turned, eyes narrowing. "About what?"
"About it not meaning anything." His voice was low, rough. "You could've stopped me the second I touched you. You didn't. You let it happen."
Her gaze hardened. "You're confusing impulse with truth. I let it happen because hesitation gets people killed. Because pushing you away in that moment would've made noise. Because—"
"Because you wanted it too," Ethan cut in, his voice sharp with conviction.
The words hung between them, raw and dangerous.
Selene's face didn't change, but her silence betrayed her. For the smallest fraction of a second, her composure cracked — a flicker in her eyes, the faintest catch of her breath. Then it was gone, her mask slamming back into place.
"You don't know what I want," she said coldly. "And you'd better pray you never find out."
She turned back toward the window, ending the conversation. But the damage was done. Ethan leaned back against the wall, exhaling shakily, his chest a battlefield of longing and fury.
The Core chuckled darkly in his veins. She resists because she fears you. She fears what you awaken in her. That fear is your power. One day she'll yield, not because you take — but because she chooses.
He hated how much he wanted to believe that.
Night fell. The city outside slept uneasily, shadows crawling between the ruins. Inside the husk of the office, Ethan drifted in and out of restless dreams, haunted by Selene's voice, her touch, her warning.
And though she kept her distance, he caught her watching him once in the dark — just for a heartbeat, her expression unguarded, raw, almost human.
Then she looked away, as if nothing had cracked at all.
But Ethan knew.
The kiss wasn't over.
It was only the beginning.