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Was it Braxton who hid the Sun all those years ago?

Is it possible Braxton’s not from the modern-day timeline?

“Hey there.” Killian pulls up a chair next to mine, takes the mug from my hands, and sets it on the table beside me. “You okay?” He studies my face.

I shrug. I’m not exactly sure what I am. Butokayis definitely not in the running.

“I wish you’d told me.” I shoot him a reproachful look as my fingers nervously pick at the ragged place on my shirt where I tore away the fabric in an attempt to save Braxton, or relieve my guilt over Braxton, or… I’m no longer certain of my own motivation. All I know for sure is that it wasn’t enough.

I left him to bleed. I—

“Shiv—” Killian’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “I did try to tell you.” He speaks softly, gently, as though wanting to defuse whatever argument I might try to start.

“Never mind.” I sniff, scrub a hand over my face. “I know now, and—” I close my eyes, struggling to hold back the tears I refuse to cry. Not in front of him, not over this.

“Hey now.” Killian takes my hand and clasps it between both of his. Rising to his feet, he helps me to mine until the two of us are so close, there’s only a whisper of space left between us.

I run my gaze over him, noting the uncertain look in his gaze, the rigid line of his shoulders. And I know I’ve trained him so well, there’s no way he’ll make the first move. If something is going to happen, it’s up to me to initiate.

And while I’m not exactly sure that’s what I want, I could use a hug—something to ease the sting of this night. So, I take a deep breath and ask him for one.

In an instant, Killian’s arms are sliding around me, pulling me close, as I bury my face in his chest. He’s as warm and strong as I remember him being, and I’m not going to lie, it feels good to be comforted like this.

With one arm circling my waist, he lifts the other to smooth a hand down my back. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

I press closer, as close as I can possibly go, until our bodies conform to each other.

And now?

I squeeze my eyes shut, reminding myself that I have no one to answer to. No need to feel guilty or ashamed of whatever comes next. I’m sick of playing it safe, of always being so cautious. I gave my heart to Braxton, and look where it got me. Maybe it’s time to take a leap and see where I land.

“Killian,” I whisper. Drawing away, I lift my chin until my gaze finds his.

“Yes, Shiv?” he says, his voice hoarse but edged with the faintest trace of something that reminds me of hope.

“I was wondering if you still want to kiss me?” I ask.

I watch as his eyes blink closed. When they open again, they shine brighter and bluer than I’ve ever seen them.

“I can hardly remember a time when I didn’t want to kiss you,” he says.

“That’s good.” I nod, clutching fast to his arms. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve run out of reasons for why you shouldn’t.” A burst of butterflies takes flight in my belly as I wait—wait for whatever comes next.

Killian takes it slow. Bringing his hands to my cheeks, he cradles my face with such reverence, any thoughts of dissent I might have instantly flee. And when he lowers his mouth onto mine, the skillful push of his lips, the expert slide and press of his tongue, remind me of the way we kissed the first night we met.

It’s a blue-ribbon kiss from a boy who’s clearly elevated kissing into an art form.

“Shiv—” He pulls away, tilts his head to the side, causing a riot of golden curls to fall across his brow. “You okay with us—with this?”

I nod—it’s all I can do. He’s robbed me of breath, of my ability to form words.

“May I?” he asks, motioning toward the boy-style cap I’d forgotten I was wearing.

With my consent, Killian frees the collection of pins, tosses the hat to the ground, and spears his fingers through my hair until it tumbles into a cascade of soft waves that fall to my waist.

“My God,” he says. “Look at you, standing here before me. Tell me I’m not dreaming.” The way he speaks—the hitch in his voice, the soft reverence of his tone—sends a flush to my cheeks that has me wanting to look away. Until he tips a finger to the underside of my chin and says, “You’ll tell me if you change your mind—about this, about me?”

I nod again and pull him back to me, if only to prove I was right.