I sit on the edge of my bed, hugging my pillow like it personally offended me and owes me an apology.
My heart is still doing that stupid fluttery thing, like it didn't get the memo that we're supposed to be normal today. Calm. Unaffected. Entirely unbothered by a certain man with dark eyes and a stupidly protective streak.
I bury my face deeper into the pillow and groan into it.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter, my voice muffled. "I cannot like him. I cannot like a man who treats danger like breakfast."
I say it like it's a rule. Like it's written somewhere in the constitution.
But my chest is still warm annoyingly warm from the way he looked at me in the hallway earlier. That quiet intensity, that soft stay close, that way he stood just a little too near like he was keeping the world back with his body alone.
Like I mattered.
And that's the real problem, isn't it?
I've spent years being overlooked, dismissed, tolerated, managed. Shuffled between the expectations of others like a burden they didn't know where to place.
But around Cyrus… even when he's infuriating and bossy and makes me feel like I'm losing my mind… it's different.
He sees me.
And that terrifies me more than the threats outside.
I shove the pillow away and stand up too fast, pacing across the room like I'm trying to wear a hole in the floor.
"He isn't good for me," I announce to the empty room. "He's absolutely not good for me."
My heart, traitor that it is, whispers back: But he's good to you.
I freeze.
"No. Nope. Shut up."
I wave my hands at my own chest like I'm swatting away a mosquito. Unfortunately, my heart does not care about my boundaries.
I cross the room to the window. Outside, the garden is dark and still. Quiet enough that the world feels like it's holding its breath.
But something in the air feels… charged. Like someone had been there. Like something shifted.
My skin prickles.
I shouldn't check.
I shouldn't open the door.
Naturally, I open it.
The hallway is empty, but the air feels warm. Disturbed. Like someone stood here just a second before I did.
My heartbeat skitters.
"…Cyrus?" I whisper.
Nothing answers. Just silence.
But I know him. I know the way he hovers without admitting he's hovering. The way he stays close enough to intervene but far enough not to spook me. The way he checks on me when he thinks I won't notice.
I close the door slowly and let my forehead rest against it.
If he was here…
If he came to check on me…
If he stood on the other side of this door wondering if I was okay…
A dangerous thought slides its way into my mind like smoke under a closed window:
Maybe I'm not the only one feeling something changing.
My breath catches. My fingers curl against the wood.
Because that thought it's terrifying. It's exhilarating. It's impossible.
And it's hopeful.
For the first time since everything startedsince the threats, the fear, the shadows crawling up my spine the thing twisting inside my chest doesn't feel like panic.
It feels like possibility.
It feels like him.
And that might be the most dangerous part of all.