Night fell softly over campus, but the tension did not fade with the light.
From the balcony of the temporary safe apartment Rafael had secured near the university, Anabeth watched the campus glow below — streetlamps lining pathways, students drifting like shadows between buildings, laughter echoing faintly. It looked peaceful.
That illusion angered Rafael.
He stood behind her, arms crossed, gaze fixed not on the view but on her reflection in the glass door. Every movement she made — every breath — pulled at him like gravity.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said quietly.
She didn't turn. "I needed air."
"There are other balconies."
"I wanted this one."
That answer was deliberate. She felt him tense behind her.
Cassian was inside, giving them space. That alone unsettled Rafael more than he wanted to admit.
Anabeth rested her hands on the railing. "You've been distant since campus."
Rafael stepped closer — not touching, but close enough that she felt his warmth.
"I've been restraining myself," he said.
Her breath hitched slightly. "From what?"
"From pulling you out of that place and never letting you go back."
She finally turned to face him.
Moonlight caught his face — sharp lines, dark eyes, restraint written into every muscle. He looked dangerous in a way that made her heart ache rather than race.
"That wouldn't be love," she said softly. "That would be fear."
His jaw tightened. "Fear keeps people alive."
"But it kills everything else."
Silence settled between them, thick and intimate.
Rafael lifted a hand — stopped inches from her cheek — then lowered it again.
"That's the problem," he murmured. "I don't trust myself when I'm close to you."
Her voice dropped. "Because?"
"Because you make me forget caution."
The honesty startled them both.
Anabeth stepped closer, closing the distance he'd left unfinished. Their bodies didn't touch — but the space between them felt electric.
"You don't scare me," she said.
"I should."
"You don't."
Rafael exhaled slowly, eyes searching hers like he was looking for permission he didn't want to ask for.
"You don't understand what it costs me to stop," he said.
"I see it," she replied.
Her fingers brushed his wrist — barely there — and the effect was immediate. His hand clenched.
That touch was the Second Fire.
Not action.
Restraint.
Rafael caught her wrist gently, not pushing it away — just holding it still.
"Don't," he warned softly.
Her pulse raced beneath his thumb. "Why?"
"Because if I cross that line," he said, voice low, "I won't know how to step back."
She swallowed. "I'm not asking you to."
That was dangerous.
His grip tightened — not painful, but firm — and he leaned in, forehead resting against hers.
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
Inside the apartment, Cassian paused mid-step, sensing something shift — not from sound, but instinct. He stayed where he was.
Outside, Rafael closed his eyes.
"Say stop," he whispered.
She didn't.
Instead, she rested her other hand against his chest — feeling the violent rhythm beneath.
"That's your heart," she murmured. "It's not cold. It's just guarded."
His breath broke.
He lowered his head slightly — not kissing her — just close enough that his breath warmed her skin.
"Do you know how many men would kill to be where I am right now?" he asked bitterly.
"Yes."
"And do you know how many I'd kill to keep them away from you?"
She met his gaze steadily. "That's not love either."
He laughed softly — a sound without humor. "You challenge everything I believe."
"Good."
The word hung between them.
Rafael released her wrist — but his hand lingered near her waist, hovering, conflicted.
"I don't want you to mistake intensity for safety," he said. "I don't want you thinking passion replaces protection."
"I don't," she replied. "I want both."
That honesty struck deep.
Before he could respond, Cassian cleared his throat softly from the doorway — not interrupting, just grounding reality back into place.
"Sorry," Cassian said. "We have a situation."
Rafael stepped back instantly — fire banked, control restored.
"What?" he asked.
Cassian's eyes flicked briefly to Anabeth — checking her expression, her steadiness.
"Someone accessed your campus ID five minutes ago," Cassian said. "From the admin network."
Anabeth's heart dropped. "I'm not there."
Cassian nodded. "Which means someone wants it to look like you are."
Rafael's fists clenched. "Hale."
"Most likely," Cassian agreed. "He's testing response time."
Rafael glanced at Anabeth — and the jealousy returned, sharper now, protective rather than possessive.
"You stay here tonight," Rafael said. "No arguments."
She nodded this time. "Okay."
Cassian hesitated — then spoke carefully.
"I'll stay on watch."
Rafael looked at him for a long moment.
This was the Second Fire too — the unspoken tension between them. Not rivalry for affection, but for responsibility.
"Fine," Rafael said finally. "But don't make me regret it."
Cassian met his gaze evenly. "I won't."
Later, when Anabeth lay awake in the quiet room, she replayed the moment on the balcony.
The almost-touch.
The withheld kiss.
The danger in restraint.
That was the Second Fire.
Not heat that burned out of control.
But heat that waited.
And waiting, she realized, could be just as powerful as action.
Outside, unseen by all of them, a light flicked on in a distant faculty building.
Someone was watching.
And smiling.
Because the closer they grew…
…the harder the fall would be.