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I swallow hard, my grip on her waist loosening just slightly, afraid to shatter whatever fragile thing has settled between us.

“Roan,” she whispers again, her voice unsteady, barely a breath of sound.

I close my eyes, exhaling against her lips. My heart is still pounding, still demandingmore, but I force myself to pull back just enough to see her face. Her wide eyes search mine, filled with something I can’t quite name—shock, maybe. Or something deeper. Something that mirrors the ache curling in my own chest.

She sways slightly, like she doesn’t trust her own legs to hold her up. My hand steadies her without thinking, fingers skimming her spine.

Aria is beautiful. Her lips are kiss-bruised, her breath uneven, and when she blinks up at me, it takes everything in me not to lean back in, not to get drunk off her all over again.

But she hasn’t spoken. She hasn’t moved. And for the first time, a flicker of doubt seeps in.

What have I done?

I clear my throat, voice rough. “Tell me to stop.”

Aria blinks, her grip tightening on my arms. She doesn’t let go.

Silence stretches between us, thick with unanswered questions.

Then, barely above a whisper, she says, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Her words crash through me like a jolt of lightning. I don’t move. I barely breathe.I don’t want you to stop.

It’s a whisper, a confession, a permission wrapped in something fragile. Something I don’t dare break.

My fingers flex against her waist, a barely-there touch, waiting for the moment she realizes what she’s just said and pulls away. But she doesn’t. She stays pressed close, her breath still uneven.

I swallow hard, every muscle in my body tense with restraint. “Aria…” Her name tastes different in my mouth now, heavier.

She looks up at me through her lashes, something unreadable flickering in her dark eyes. She’s still catching her breath, still holding on, and I wonder if she even realizes it.

I should let go of her. Ishould.But instead, I lift a hand, trailing my fingers over the curve of her jaw, tilting her chin just slightly. She leans into the touch before she can stop herself, the smallest movement, but it’s enough to undo me all over again.

“You don’t want me to stop?” I ask, my voice rough, low. A final chance for her to step back.

She shakes her head. Slow. Deliberate.

“Then tell me what youdowant,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her cheekbone. Her breath hitches.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, voice unsteady. “I…” She trails off, lips parting, searching for words that won’t come.

I exhale sharply, resting my forehead against hers. She’s shaking, just slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. “Aria,” I say again, softer this time.

Give me something, Mouse. Anything.

She sways closer, her hands curling into the fabric of my shirt, like she’s grounding herself. Her breath trembles against my lips. “I just want us to be safe,” she admits, so quiet it almost isn’t there. “Both of us.”

Something sharp lances through my chest. BecauseI know that feeling.The weight of it. The ache of it.

I tilt my head, nudging my nose against hers, groundingheras much as myself. “We’re safe right now,” I rasp. “And we’ll figure out the rest.” My fingers tighten at her waist, my voice dropping lower. “But I’m not letting you go. No matter what's hunting us, I'll be the one standing between it and you."

She makes a sound, something caught between relief and uncertainty, and before I can stop myself, I close the space between us once more.

This time, the kiss is slower. Less desperation, more certainty. A quiet promise between us, unspoken but understood. She softens against me, hands still tangled in my shirt, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.

I kiss her like I can convince her otherwise. Like I canproveit to her.

Her lips part beneath mine, hesitant but willing, and a deep, shuddering breath escapes me. I tighten my hold on her waist, drawing her flush against me.