The next morning didn't taste like morning. It tasted like the night still lingered in the corners of the room, refusing to leave.
Mara lay on her back, staring at the crack on her ceiling—a thin, jagged line that had been there for years. Rainlight filtered through the faded curtains, soft and weak, painting everything in gray.
She should've felt fine. Safe. Home.Instead, her skin still carried the echo of leather and smoke.
She had gotten out of the car—eventually. Elias hadn't tried to stop her. He'd just watched, eyes steady, as if he already knew she'd circle back on her own. The way he'd said beginning still looped through her head like a line from a song she couldn't forget.
She dragged herself up, bare feet pressing against the cold floor. Their tiny apartment didn't have space for secrets. The walls were thin, the kitchen sink always dripping, and the air always smelled faintly like cheap detergent. But it was hers.
"Mara?" a voice called from the next room.
Ivana.
Her sister's voice had that same cautious softness it always carried in the mornings, like she wasn't sure which version of the world she'd wake up to. Ivana leaned against the doorframe, an oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder. She looked like someone who'd once known how to shine—and had learned how to hide it too well.
"You're up early," Ivana said, rubbing her arms. "Late shift last night?"
Mara nodded. "Yeah. Gala at the Hall."
Ivana's expression flickered—barely. But Mara caught it. A twitch in her jaw. A glance that held too much history.
"Who was there?" Ivana asked lightly, too lightly.
"Rich people. The usual," Mara said. She tried to sound bored. She failed.
Ivana crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. "Anyone… worth mentioning?"
The name sat heavy on Mara's tongue. Elias Vance. She didn't say it. She didn't have to. Her silence did the talking.
Ivana's face hardened, like a curtain dropping. "You saw him."
Mara blinked. "You know who I'm talking about?"
"Everyone in this city knows who Elias Vance is," Ivana muttered. She moved to the counter, fingers trembling just enough for Mara to notice. She grabbed a chipped mug, poured coffee, and didn't meet Mara's eyes. "You don't get close to men like him."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't." Ivana's voice snapped sharper than she intended. It startled them both. She took a slow breath, shoulders sinking. "You have no idea what that man is capable of."
Mara wrapped her arms around herself. "Then tell me."
Ivana stayed quiet. That was the thing about her—she didn't lie. She just didn't talk about the parts that still burned.
Mara watched her sister's profile. For years, Ivana had been the one who taught her how to survive this city. How to read people's silences. How to stay unseen. And now, seeing that look on her face—that frozen memory kind of look—Mara's chest tightened.
"What did he do to you?" Mara whispered.
Ivana's eyes flicked up. Not to answer. Just to warn. "I got out," she said flatly. "That's all that matters. And if you're smart, you'll keep your head down and never step near him again."
Mara wanted to say she could do that. That she would do that.But the truth sat like a pulse beneath her ribs: she'd already stepped near him.
The sound of the rain tapping against the window filled the silence.
Ivana set the mug down with a soft thud. "Promise me," she said, her voice fraying at the edges now. "Promise me you'll stay away from Elias Vance."
Mara hesitated. Just long enough for Ivana to catch it.
"Damn it, Mara," she whispered. "You think you're clever? That you're different? So did I."
That landed like a stone in water. Heavy. Sinking.
Ivana walked out of the kitchen, leaving behind the faint smell of burned coffee and warnings she couldn't explain.
Mara sat at the tiny table, hands pressed against her face. Outside, the city was waking up—horns, footsteps, the usual morning chaos. Inside, everything felt too quiet.
She could still hear him.Last chance, Mara Duval.
She hated how her pulse reacted to the memory of his voice. Hated how the night before felt more real than the cracked ceiling above her.
This wasn't supposed to happen to her. She was careful. She kept her head down. She'd built her whole life on not touching the flames.
But flames… didn't always ask permission to burn.