Page 26

26

SERAPHINE

T he air outside PEACE headquarters is thick with that too-clean, sharp smell that comes just before rain.

The clouds overhead roll low and bruised, and there’s that weird kind of light in the sky—yellow-gray, humming like a held breath. Portland in early spring. Always on the edge of a downpour or a breakdown.

Jackson walks me to my car in silence.

I don’t say anything either.

We’re too full of everything from that room—the words we can’t unsay, the truths that finally carved themselves into skin.

I fumble with my keys, trying to ignore the electric pulse of the bond between us, the way it’s humming louder now that the world has named it.

Key.

Tether.

Trigger.

I get the door halfway open when I hear it.

“Wait—” His voice cuts through the air like a chord snapped too tight.

I stop. Turn.

And he’s standing there in the growing drizzle, hands curled at his sides, that storm brewing behind his milky brown eyes matching the one above us.

“Don’t do it,” he says. “Don’t push me away.”

I swallow hard. “Jackson?—”

“No.” His voice is rough, breaking in all the wrong places. “You don’t get to shut down now. Not after everything.”

The first drops of rain hit his shoulders, darkening the fabric of his shirt. His jaw is clenched, the scar near his left eye twitching the way it does when he’s trying not to lose it.

“You said you’d keep me close,” he continues. “That you wouldn’t shut me out anymore.”

“That was for Halbrook to keep you on the case. But that killer named you the fucking key, ” I snap, slamming the car door closed again. “Do you know just how fast they’ll come for you?”

He steps closer.

And I step back. Because if I don’t, I’ll give in. And if I give in, I lose him.

“You think I don’t know the risks?” he says, voice quiet but cutting. “You think I haven’t felt it—what being bound to you actually means?”

I look away. “It means they’ll use you.”

“No,” he says. “It means I chose you.”

I can’t breathe.

“You don’t get to decide for me,” he says. “You don’t get to decide who I love.”

That stops me cold.

The rain hits harder now, a steady drizzle soaking into my coat, plastering strands of hair against my cheeks.

I meet his eyes. .

“I love you, Sera,” he says, like it’s a fact he’s been carrying so long it finally split him open. “Not because of the bond. Not because of the magic. Not even because of the danger.”

“Then why? ” I whisper.

“Because even when you’re at your most terrifying, you’re still the only person who ever made me feel like I wasn’t a weapon waiting to be used. You keep me on my toes, you’re smart, quick-witted, independent, fierce and damn sexy while being all those things.”

I move before I think and grab him by the collar and pull him down into a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation and truth.

He tastes like rain and fire.

Like something I’ll never deserve.

Like something I’ll lose if I’m not careful.

His arms wrap around me and for one beautiful, aching moment, we’re just this—just two broken pieces holding on before the storm rips us apart again.

But I can’t let it last.

I can’t.

I pull back like I’m being burned.

His hand reaches for me, but I shove the car door open and slide inside, slamming it shut before he can stop me again.

He bangs a fist on the roof once, not out of anger—but pain.

And I drive.

The streets blur through the windshield, the wipers barely keeping up with the downpour. My heart’s trying to beat out of my ribs, and my hands are shaking so bad I have to white-knuckle the wheel just to keep straight.

This is wrong.

This is right.

This is dangerous.

And I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life.

By the time I pull up outside my building, I’m soaked in cold sweat and guilt.

I don’t even make it to the front steps before headlights cut through the rain behind me.

I freeze.

Turn.

Jackson’s sedan pulls up slow.

His door swings open.

And he steps out.

No words.

Just the rain.

Just us.

I run up my steps as fast as I can, but it’s not quick enough.