Page 145 of Shots & Echoes

I pushed off the wall, moving toward her like it was inevitable. Maybe it was.

“You did it.”

I watched as Iris’s lips curled into a small smile, exhaustion pressing into the edges of her features but failing to dim the fire in her eyes. She looked—fuck—she looked alive. A little worn, a little unsteady, but there was something else there too. Something raw.

Something that made my chest tighten.

“I’m proud of you, Evans.”

The words came out rougher than I intended, scraping against the walls I had built between us. I meant them. Every single syllable. And from the way she swallowed hard, her fingers flexing at her sides, I knew she felt it too.

But beneath the pride, behind the glow of victory, I saw it—the flicker of something darker, something she wasn’t saying. A shadow curling at the edges of her expression like a secret she was too tired to hide.

I ignored it. Forced it down into the same place I buried all the other things I didn’t want to deal with.

Instead, I reached for something tangible. Something real.

“Come over tonight.”

The words were a slow burn in the air between us, heavier than any invitation I had ever given her before. This wasn’t about heat. It wasn’t about getting lost in her body or stealing another night away from the world.

This was something else. Something dangerous.

“Just us. No bullshit.”

Her breath caught. I saw it—the way her chest rose and fell just a little sharper, how her fingers twitched like she was fighting the urge to reach for me. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken truths and things neither of us wanted to name.

Then her lips parted. “I can’t.”

And fuck, if those two words didn’t hit harder than a body check to the boards.

I felt it in my ribs, in the spaces between them where I had let her in without realizing. The sharp sting of something I wasn’t ready to call rejection.

“Iris…”

I stepped closer before I could stop myself, the distance between us narrowing. But she didn’t meet my eyes. She stared at the ground like it held all the answers we didn’t have, likeif she focused hard enough, she could pretend none of this was happening.

I wanted to push. I wanted to demand answers.

But some part of me knew that if I pushed too hard, I’d break whatever fragile thing we had left. I’d turn this into something ugly.

And I wasn’t sure I could handle that.

So instead, I lingered. Close enough to feel the heat of her skin, close enough that I could hear her breathing—shallow, uneven.

My heart dropped.

Not because she said no, but because of how she said it—soft, broken. Like it hurt her just to get the words out. And that? That twisted something deep inside me, something raw and unrelenting.

“Why?” My voice came out rougher than I meant it to, but I didn’t care.

She wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes were glossy, the sheen of unshed tears catching in the harsh fluorescent light. Fuck. I felt like I was missing something huge, like a conversation was happening beneath the surface that I wasn’t a part of.

“I’m going to the bonfire.”

The words landed like a fist to my ribs.

The bonfire. The team. Chris.