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I step forward, suspicious. “Is this some kind of elaborate ploy to knock me unconscious?”

He smirks, pouring the warm liquid into the mug. “You think I need a ploy?”

The corner of my mouth tugs up before I can stop it. “Fair point.”

I wrap my fingers around the cup, letting the heat seep into my skin, and take a tentative sip. It’s rich, slightly spiced, a little sweet—but not too much. The kind of drink that lulls you toward sleep without your realizing it.

I blink up at him. “What is this?”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with an infuriating degree of satisfaction. “Warm milk, cinnamon, a little honey.”

I raise a brow. “Did you justgrandmotherme?”

“Consider it preventative care.” He nods toward the cup. “Your pupils were blown from more than just what I did to you.Coming down from an adrenaline high like that messes with your nervous system.”

I stare at him, a little caught off guard by his attentiveness. The way he noticed, the way he’s trying to fix it without prying, without making me explain.

There are no words in me for what he’s just done, so I take another sip, the warmth curling through me, relaxing parts of me I didn’t realize were still tense. “It’s good,” I admit.

His smirk tilts. “Don’t sound too shocked.”

I roll my eyes and lean against the counter beside him, both of us silent for a moment. It should be awkward, standing here in nothing but this robe, sipping warm milk like we didn’t just devour each other against a wall, but it isn’t.

And then he speaks.

“Are you gonna tell me?” His voice is quieter now, the teasing gone, replaced with something gentler.

I glance up at him. “Tell you what?”

He doesn’t blink. “Why you really came back.”

The words land with a dull ache in my chest, and I look away, focusing on the swirl of cinnamon in my drink.

Because I’m tired of running. Because this is where I was born, and I want… I want to see if there’s anything here worth returning to or staying back for, or if I should escape forever.

The truth hovers on my tongue, pressing against my ribs, but I do what I always do and smile instead.

“What makes you think there’s a reason?”

He exhales, long and slow, like he’s already preparing for my deflection. “Because I know you, Ivy.”

I take a sip, avoiding his gaze. “Not anymore. I’m not who I used to be, Ethan.”

“No,” he agrees quietly. “You’re not.” He doesn’t say more, and neither do I, instead settling on finishing the last of my drink. Once it’s all gone, I place the mug on the counter before shifting back, ready to put some space between us before he makes me feel too much.

“Well,” I say, exhaling as I adjust the robe, already stepping toward the stairs, “thank you for the night, Ethan. Truly.”

His eyes darken slightly, unreadable, as if he doesn’t like the finality of that.

“That’s it?” he asks, tilting his head.

I force a small smirk. “What, you want me to write a Yelp review?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” he deadpans, and it amuses me enough to pull a quiet chuckle from my chest, the sound slipping out before I can stop it. It’s unguarded, real in a way I don’t expect, and for a second, his expression changes. His features soften, his eyes flickering with an emotion I can’t name, a hesitation that lingers between us, a pull neither of us should acknowledge.

I ignore it. I have to.

So I turn, heading up the stairs, feeling his gaze on my back the entire way. The ache in my chest remains, but I push it down, force it into the part of me that knows better.