Page 16

16

COLT

T he ride is unbearable.

Magnolia’s thighs press tightly against my hips, her arms locked around my waist as we speed down the road. Every bump and turn makes her hold on tighter, and every time she shifts against me, my wolf howls, clawing at the edges of my control. The vibration of the bike does nothing to help; it amplifies everything—the heat of her body, the rhythmic press of her legs, the scent of her skin.

I’ve had pretty girls on this bike before, of course. I’ve gotten my fill of beautiful women.

But Magnolia…? She’s something else.

She’s close. Too close.

It’s a dangerous kind of torment, gnawing at the edges of my resolve and making it impossible to focus on anything but her. The road blurs beneath the tires, the hum of the engine blending with the wild beating of my heart. I know I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am, but it’s impossible not to. Every part of me is aware of her—Magnolia Jones, clinging to me like she belongs here, and God help me, it feels like she does.

When we finally reach the observatory, I’m half convinced my self-control has frayed to the breaking point. The crumbling main building looms ahead of us, its dome tarnished with rust, patches of metal glinting dully under the afternoon sun. Cracks snake along the walls, like the place has fought battles with time and weather and barely made it through. Windows, or what’s left of them, gape like empty eyes, shattered glass replaced by the jagged edges of neglect.

The surrounding grounds sprawl out in every direction, a mixture of wild beauty and decay. Winding paths, once neatly paved, are now fractured and uneven, overrun with weeds and dotted with bursts of wildflowers—reds, yellows, and purples breaking through the cracks like nature reclaiming what was once hers. The scent of damp earth and sun-warmed grass fills the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of rust from the old equipment scattered along the trails.

Further down the paths, smaller domes and telescopes sit like forgotten sentinels, their once-pristine surfaces dulled by grime and lichen. Some are tilted at odd angles, their mechanisms long since frozen in place. Others look intact, their steel frames weathered but sturdy, the telescopes themselves pointing toward the heavens as if waiting patiently for someone to use them again.

The whole place has an eerie, haunting beauty to it—a reminder of what was lost, but also what still remains. It’s quiet here, save for the faint whisper of the wind through the overgrown grass and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees that dot the perimeter.

Magnolia climbs off the bike first, her hair wild from the ride and her cheeks tinted that glorious rose gold that’s occupied my dreams for too many nights. She stretches, arching her back slightly, and I force myself to look away, pretending to check the saddlebags for supplies.

“This place is incredible,” she breathes, her eyes wide as she takes in the weathered structure. “I can’t believe it’s still here.”

“It’s seen better days,” I say, grabbing the small toolkit from the bike and slinging it over my shoulder. The strap bites into my shoulder slightly, but I ignore it. “But it should hold up long enough for us to take a look around.”

Magnolia glances back at me, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, a stark contrast to the decay surrounding us. “Do you think the telescopes still work?”

“Only one way to find out,” I reply, motioning for her to follow me. She doesn’t hesitate, her boots crunching against the gravel as she falls into step beside me.

As we approach the main building, she pulls her Polaroid camera from her bag and flips it open. The movement is smooth, practiced, and there’s a look of quiet anticipation on her face as she inspects the device. “Do you think we’ll find anything else in there?” she asks, glancing at me briefly before focusing on loading a fresh roll of film.

“Depends,” I say, pausing to glance at the observatory’s entrance. The heavy metal doors are streaked with rust, one slightly ajar, and the faint scent of mildew wafts from within. “Could be a lot of junk. Or nothing at all. Maybe some old logs, equipment, who knows?”

She carefully threads the roll of film into place, the metallic clicks of the camera oddly comforting against the quiet hum of the surrounding meadow. “I hope we find something,” she murmurs, snapping the back of the camera shut with a satisfying click. “Even if it’s just a piece of the past. Something to prove people were here, that they cared about all this…before.”

“The past doesn’t always mean much,” I say, my tone unintentionally gruff. “But if there’s anything useful, I’ll find it.”

Magnolia looks up at me then, her expression soft but intent. “It’s not just about finding something useful,” she says quietly. “It’s about…connection. To the people who built this, to the stars they were studying. Doesn’t that matter too?”

Her question catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to answer. Instead, I nod toward the building. “Let’s find out what’s left inside first,” I say. “Then we can talk about meaning.”

She gives me a small smile, one that feels like a quiet victory, and tucks the camera strap over her shoulder. “Alright,” she says. “Let’s see what we can find.”

The inside of the observatory is eerily quiet, the faint sound of the wind whistling through broken windows and cracks in the walls. Dust coats every surface, and the air smells faintly of rust and decay, but there’s a certain beauty to it—a sense of history lingering in the shadows.

Magnolia’s steps are reverent, as she explores the space. Her fingers trail over an old control panel, brushing away layers of grime to reveal faded buttons and switches. “It feels like stepping back in time,” she says, her voice echoing in the cavernous room.

“Careful,” I warn, watching her from a distance. “This place might look solid, but it’s been abandoned for a long time.”

“I’ll be careful,” she promises, her gaze fixed on the massive telescope in the center of the room. It looms overhead like a sleeping giant, its once-polished surface tarnished and dull. “Do you think we could get it working?”

I glance at the telescope, then back at her. “It’s a long shot. We’d need to clean the lens, check the alignment, and hope the mechanics aren’t completely shot.”

Magnolia turns to me, her eyes wide with excitement. “Can we try?”

I hesitate, my instinct telling me to shut it down. This isn’t what we came here for, and the idea of spending hours tinkering with ancient equipment isn’t exactly appealing. But the way she looks at me—like this is the most exciting thing she’s ever done—makes it impossible to say no.

“Magnolia…”

“I just think it would be cool to get it working,” she says. “Maybe even take a field trip out here with some of the kids at some point–show them there’s a world outside of all this.”

“We can try,” I say, relenting with a sigh. “But don’t get your hopes up.”

Her smile is radiant, and for a moment, I forget why I’m supposed to keep my distance. She moves closer to the telescope, inspecting it with an intensity that makes my chest ache. “Do you think we’ll see anything?” she asks, her voice filled with wonder.

“Depends on what you’re hoping to see,” I say, leaning against the control panel. “Stars? Planets? Maybe some old world space junk?”

Magnolia glances at me, a teasing glint in her eyes. “What about Angels? Think we’ll catch one of their ships?”

I stiffen slightly at the mention of them, my easygoing facade slipping for a moment. “I wouldn’t count on it,” I say, my tone more guarded now. “They don’t show themselves unless they want to be seen. And besides…who knows if they even fly up there, right? Being celestial and all.”

“You don’t believe they’re aliens?” Magnolia asks, tilting her head, her curls catching the light like a halo.

I shrug, crossing my arms as I lean against the weathered wall of the observatory. “I don’t know what they are,” I admit. “Could be aliens. Could be something worse.”

Her expression grows pensive, her gaze drifting to the massive telescope towering above us. “They showed their hand in Austin, during the rebellion.”

I glance at her, my brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

She exhales slowly, her hands curling tightly around the strap of her camera. “I mean they dropped the act,” she says. “Stopped pretending to be some benevolent force and turned their psychic powers on the population. They didn’t care who got caught in the crossfire—men, women, kids. It didn’t matter. It was all about control–about keeping us brainwashed to think the Infernal Legion was evil.”

Her words send a chill down my spine, though I try not to let it show. “Hold up,” I mutter. “Psychic powers?”

Magnolia nods, her eyes distant, like she’s seeing something far away—or something she wishes she could forget. “They didn’t even try to hide it. It was like watching gods tear through humanity. My parents and I…” She pauses, swallowing hard. “We were helping organize an evacuation when they unleashed whatever that was, while Reyes and his people actually fought. They could do things…use their minds to move objects, to make people blind and deaf. A lot of folks died.”

She shifts her weight, her grip tightening on the camera. “And then, when they were done? They didn’t stick around to explain. They fled—on ships. They didn’t fly with wings, they weren’t raptured up or something. They escaped on spaceships. You don’t need stories or speculation when you’ve seen it with your own eyes.”

Her voice carries an edge of anger, but there’s a deeper current of pain beneath it, raw and unhealed. I take a moment before responding, my thoughts racing. “I’ve heard the stories,” I say carefully. “But...it’s hard to imagine.”

Magnolia turns to me. “It’s not a story, Colt. I was there. So were my parents. My siblings were too young to remember, but we’ll never forget.”

The weight of her memories settles over me. The Angels—or whatever they are—have always been a mystery, a shadowy force that looms over everything, watching, waiting. They’re so few that it almost seems like the Convergence could have happened without them at times…but this is the first time anyone’s told me they know the truth.

It freaks me out more than I expected.

“They didn’t look like saviors,” she adds. “Not when they tore through Austin like that. Not when they left us to pick up the pieces.”

I study her for a moment, the fire in her gaze, the way her fingers tremble just slightly as she adjusts her grip on the camera. “We’ll never really know what they want,” I say finally, my voice low. “But whatever it is, it’s not in our best interest.”

Magnolia nods, her gaze returning to the telescope. “Maybe not. But I still want to see the stars tonight.”

Tonight.

That wasn’t part of the plan.

I stare at her, trying to gather my thoughts, but all I can focus on is the way her voice lingers in the air—soft, hopeful. “You want to stay here?” I ask, surprised. “Overnight?”

She nods, turning to face me fully now, her expression so open, so vulnerable, that it makes my chest ache. “Just for tonight. We’ve come all this way, and I don’t want to leave without seeing something. Please?”

Please.

That one word cuts through every layer of my resistance, tearing it down faster than I can rebuild it. My wolf stirs, restless and eager, thrilled by the idea of having her out here, away from the den, away from prying eyes. I know what staying overnight means—the risks, the consequences, the lines that might be crossed. If we stay, things will change between us. They already have, haven’t they? The tension humming between us has been growing since the moment she climbed onto my bike, her arms wrapping around me like she belonged there. And now, alone in this place, with nothing but the stars above us and time stretching endless ahead…I’m not sure I trust myself.

I swallow hard, the logical part of my brain screaming at me to say no, to remind her of her parents, of the fallout when they realize she’s gone. But the rest of me—the part that’s aching for her, for the softness in her eyes and the way her voice wraps around me like a promise—can’t resist. I don’t want to resist.

My hesitation must be obvious because she steps closer. “Please, Colt,” she says again, her wide eyes searching mine. “Just for tonight. I want to see something real. Something bigger than…everything else.”

I know what she’s asking isn’t just about the stars. It’s about freedom, about a moment of escape, about feeling like she’s more than the dutiful daughter of the den.

And damn it, I want to give her that.

But I also know what’s waiting for us if we stay. Her parents will be furious when they realize she’s gone. Whispers will spread through the den faster than wildfire, and every eye will turn to us. Staying means drawing a line in the sand, a line that can’t be erased. And if something happens—if I can’t keep my distance, if she doesn’t want me to—we’ll both cross that line, and there’s no going back.

My wolf growls low in my chest, impatient and possessive, urging me to take this chance. To give her what she wants. What I want.

“Alright,” I say finally, my voice rough with resignation. “We’ll stay. But just for tonight.”

Her face lights up, and for a moment, all the doubts, all the warnings screaming in my head, fade into the background. She smiles at me, soft and brilliant, and it feels like the world shifts beneath my feet. “Thank you, Colt,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, swallowing hard as I glance back at the telescope. “Let’s see if we can make it worth our while,” I say, though the words feel heavier than they should.

Magnolia turns back to the telescope, her fingers tracing its edges like she’s already imagining the stars it might reveal. And I stand there, watching her, knowing that staying here tonight will change everything. The air between us hums with unspoken possibilities, and I can feel it.

This is the moment. The tipping point.

And when the stars come out, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself from reaching for her.