Willow didn't let herself breathe until the apartment door clicked shut behind Zane. She stood frozen for a moment—heart pounding too loudly in her ears, skin prickling with the ghost of Miles' hands, lungs tight with everything she was trying not to feel. Her fingers curled into the edge of the counter until her knuckles whitened, grounding herself in the pain of pressure because it felt more manageable than the trembling inside her.
The apartment was quiet again, but not the peaceful kind. It was the quiet that followed a storm—broken branches, scattered debris, things shaken loose. Her body still remembered the violence of Miles' desperation, the bruising kiss she hadn't asked for, the cold terror that had surged through her veins when he grabbed her too hard and wouldn't let go. She hated how his scent still clung to her skin. She hated how her own pulse still tripped with leftover fear.
