I told myself it would be the last time.
The last stolen conversation.
The last look held too long.
The last night I pretended I wasn't already in love.
Cassian was in my chambers when the storm began—thunder shaking the windows, rain striking the glass like thrown stones.
"You should leave," I said, even as I closed the door.
He watched me carefully. "You don't want me to."
I turned my back to him. "Wanting has never ended well for me."
Silence stretched. Then footsteps—slow, deliberate.
"Elara," he said softly. "Look at me."
I did.
The fear was there. But so was longing. And something else—resolve.
"I don't know how much time we have," he continued. "But I know this: I don't want to spend it pretending I don't feel this."
My breath shook.
Neither of us mentioned the curse.
I crossed the room first.