The fire keeps cracking even after the wood is gone.
Outside, the rain presses against the glass, a steady heartbeat.
Adrian hasn't moved from the table. The blue light from the laptop flickers across his face, cutting him in half—one side warm, one side cold. He stares at the code as if the right line of numbers could undo what we've seen.
I can't look at the screen anymore. I can still hear Liam's voice in my head, fractured by static. Stop looking.
I move closer to the fire instead. The heat bites, but I welcome it. At least it's something that hurts the way it should.
Behind me the laptop clicks shut. Silence. I can feel him watching me.
The air changes—the way it always does right before lightning.
When I turn, his expression is unreadable.
"You should rest," he says.
"So should you."
"Can't."
Neither can I. Every breath feels borrowed. Every heartbeat too loud.
He leans against the table, eyes following the lines of light that climb the wall. "Tomorrow we figure out what Liam meant."
"Tomorrow." I nod, but it sounds like a lie. Tomorrow feels like another lifetime.
For a moment we just stand there, the sound of rain between us.
Then I step forward.
"Don't," he murmurs, though he doesn't move.
"Why not?"
He shakes his head once, slow. "Because if I touch you again, I won't stop."
I'm already close enough to see the pulse in his throat, the rise of his breath.
"Then don't stop."
The words leave me before I can think about them.
He exhales, a sound half pain, half surrender, and crosses the room.
When his hands find my face, the rest of the world disappears.
The kiss hits hard—heat, air, everything collapsing into this one impossible second. His jacket smells like smoke; my hair tangles in his fingers. The chair behind us topples, the laptop slides to the floor with a dull thud.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are darker now, soft around the edges. "Elara…"
"Don't talk." My voice shakes. "Just—don't."
He doesn't.
The next kiss is slower. Controlled. He tastes like rain and adrenaline. I feel the tremor in his breath, the hesitation that lasts only a heartbeat before it's gone.
We move together without planning it—hands, breath, the scrape of fabric, the pulse of firelight flashing against the wall.
Every nerve in my body wakes up. I can't tell if I'm shaking from fear or from him.
He breaks away, forehead against mine. "This is wrong."
"I know."
"But it's real."
That's all that matters.
I press closer. His hand finds the back of my neck, thumb brushing the line of my jaw. My own fingers trace the scars along his temple, the ones that make him look more alive than anyone I've ever met.
The fire pops, throwing sparks.
He catches my wrist, kisses the inside of it, slow enough to make my pulse stutter.
Everything that's been restrained between us for days finally gives way.
There's no plan, no logic. Only breath and touch and the ache of wanting something pure in a world that keeps burning down around us.
His voice is rough against my ear. "Tell me to stop."
"I can't."
He laughs once—low, disbelieving—and the sound breaks something open inside me.
The storm outside roars; the window shudders.
I don't care.
We move like we're trying to erase everything that came before—the lies, the grief, the ghosts. The cabin narrows to firelight and heartbeat, the world shrinking to the space between us.
When he pulls me against him, the warmth of him replaces the cold that's been living under my skin since the day Liam died.
My hands slide up his back; he breathes my name like it's the first honest thing either of us has said in years.
Then it's quiet again. Only rain. Only fire. Only us.
He looks at me one last time, searching for permission he already has.
And the world blurs.
The firelight flickers over the ceiling; the thunder rolls farther away.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, I forget how to be afraid.
Later, the flames are low and the storm has gentled to a whisper.
He lies beside me on the worn rug, eyes half-closed, hand resting over mine.
I can still feel the echo of his heartbeat against my skin, steady, human, alive.
For the first time since Liam's death, the quiet doesn't scare me.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face. "You're warm."
"You're not," I murmur.
He smiles—small, tired, real. "Then stay close."
I do.
Outside, the rain fades into mist. Inside, the fire burns itself down to coals.
Tomorrow will come with questions, with danger, with the truth we've both been running toward and away from.
But tonight, in this cabin, with his heartbeat still echoing against mine, I let the world go.
And in the dark, I stop fighting the fire.
But the fire never really sleeps.
Even as the room fades to gray, the laptop on the table blinks once — a faint pulse of light in the dark.
I don't see it. Not yet.
Somewhere beyond the storm, a signal stirs again.
And with it, the past we thought we buried begins to breathe.
Tomorrow will come with questions that don't wait for answers.
With faces that wear old names.
With truths too sharp to hold.
And when it does, the line between love and betrayal will vanish and my brother will be standing on the other side of it.