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“What does this have to do with forgiveness?” he asked.

“What if that forgiveness is misguided?”

“Oh Shards…”

“I’m just saying, are we really sure this is a good idea? Me, going back to Ryme? Because I think I could live a very satisfying life as a hermit.”

“Is that so?” Skye mused. “Maybe you could just run off on your own and leave everyone to think you died while you’re at it?”

She scowled. “Fair point, but ouch.”

“You already tried to be a hermit, Taly. It didn’t work.”

“Yeah, because I stayed in Ryme. I didn’t fully commit. This time, I’m thinking I go completely off-grid.”

He flicked her nose.

“Ow.”

“Look at me, Taly. Do you see my face?”

They were nose-to-nose.

“You’reallI can see right now.”

“And?”

“You look very serious.”

“Because I am. Stop that train of irrational, self-destructive logic right now. You’re coming home. I’ll carry you back kicking and screaming if I have to.”

“Jerk,” she muttered.

“Bite me.”

She considered it, a sly grin curving her mouth. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. And warm. Too warm for the damp, icy chill that permeated the loft despite the fire blazing downstairs.

“It’s been five minutes,” Skye said.

She giggled as he pushed her flat against the bedroll. His lips brushed hers, the barest contact—just enough to make her lean in if she wanted the rest.

Easy, he reminded himself.Take it easy.

Taly was still new to this—he was getting all her firsts, and the last thing he wanted to do was rush her through them.

So, he kept it slow. Kept the press of his body light, savoring every gentle glide of her lips, every tentative shift as she tried to mirror his movements.

She was learning, feeling her way through this, and it made his chest ache with something too big to name.

Then she relaxed beneath him. Her fingers curled into his shirt. Tugging him closer, she deepened the kiss, moving against him with growing confidence.

He liked it when she did that—when she took that step, letting him know she wanted more.

He liked it too much.

A jolt of heat shot through him, pooling between his legs, pressing hard against the seam of his pants. But he forced himself to stay steady—to keep his hands from wandering, to resist the urge to press closer. There was always a point where she’d tense up again and start to second guess. The longer he stayed in control, the more time they’d have—time to ease her forward, to nudge her further along that invisible line between hesitation and wanting.

One day, he wouldn’t have to wait. Wouldn’t have to think. He’d just take. And she’d let him. But until then—