Page 47

EVE

My breath caught as the man turned to face me.

His presence wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—he carried a kind of stillness, like deep water or the pause before thunder.

The energy that surrounded him permeated with a strength that didn’t show itself in motion, but in patience.

His skin was tanned, like he brought the sun in with him and hadn’t bothered to share it.

Short black curls crowned a face that was all sharp symmetry and unreadable lines—cheekbones high, jaw set like it had never softened for anyone.

And then his eyes found mine.

Dark gray, almost silver. Cold enough to scare me. They didn’t widen. Didn’t blink. They just… held me there, like he knew things I didn’t. Things I wouldn’t want to know.

And still—I couldn’t look away.

His gaze dipped over me once, like taking inventory. “You’re not who I expected.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. His voice didn’t match the rest of him. It wasn’t sharp or thunderous. It was measured. Low. Like it had been used sparingly, and never wasted a single word.

My pulse stuttered. The words shouldn’t have mattered. But they landed like a weight I couldn’t shake. Something in his tone—like the world had tilted slightly off-axis.

Footsteps echoed behind me, and the spell cracked. I turned just as Orion stepped into the hallway.

His hair was still messy, his shirt stained with soot, but he was here. Alive. And looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered, relief melted the tension in his shoulders.

He didn’t even glance at the man in the living room. He just crossed the space in a few strides, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in without hesitation.

“You scared the hell out of me, Sunshine.” His voice was soft, but the crack in it gave him away.

I froze for a second in his arms. Not because I didn’t want this. Because I did. So much that it frightened me.

His hands came to rest at the sides of my face, tilting my head just slightly to look at me, like he saw through all the fear and hesitation.

I tried to smile, but it cracked. “I scared myself.”

His thumb brushed just below my jaw. He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t need to. He just leaned in and pressed his lips to my forehead—gentle, careful, like he didn’t want to risk shattering me.

And it shattered me anyway.

Then, someone coughed.

“…Atlas,” Orion said, spinning to the stranger with a look of pure shock.

Wait—that name was familiar…

“When did you get back?”

His voice cracked like lightning. His confusion dissolved into sour accusation.

Atlas didn’t respond right away. His gaze held on Orion, but there was still something trailing toward me. Like I was being cataloged, not seen.

“It appears I’ve missed a lot.”

Footsteps thudded down the hall behind us, and Xander appeared in the doorway. He stopped dead when he saw the man in the room.

“Atlas?” His voice caught, disbelief flickering in the space between his brows.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ragnar’s voice came from behind him, colder. “Took you long enough! Do you have any idea what we’ve been putting up with while you were off doing fuck knows what?”

The tension in the room twisted, pulling taut like a rope about to snap.

Atlas didn’t flinch. He looked at Xander, then Ragnar, then—finally—at me. His stare wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t soft either. It felt like standing at the edge of something ancient.

I really didn’t want to get in the middle of… whatever this was.

“I’m gonna go take that shower,” I said, backing toward the hallway. “And… I should call Louise.”

Orion’s head turned sharply toward me, some of that earlier softness returning to his features.

“Eve—“

“Can I borrow your phone?” I asked him, not giving him the chance to speak. He hesitated for a moment, but I could see the war brewing behind his eyes. Then he pulled his phone from his back pocket and handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I said, darting to the bathroom as fast as I could.

I took a deep breath, but didn’t let myself linger. I stripped out of my ruined clothes and hopped into the shower, letting the pressure pulverize my raw skin as I got clean. I only got out when the water got cold.

I toweled off quickly, my hands shaking—not from the chill, but from something coiled tighter beneath my skin.

My gaze dropped to my hands.

They looked normal now. No burn marks. No glow. No threat.

I didn’t trust them. But still… I needed to know.

I turned to the sink, set the towel aside, and raised one palm—just a little. Just enough to call it forward. Not a spark. Not even a flicker. Just… warmth.

It came anyway.

Too fast. Too eager.

A flame bloomed at my fingertips like it had been waiting, licking up the air in a soft curl of light.

At first, I stared. Then the heat surged.

The fire roared up my palm, alive and hungry, and I yelped, instinct snapping like a whip. I shoved my hand under the tap and twisted the handle hard.

Water hissed as it met flame. The sink filled with steam.

My breath came too fast. My fingers trembled under the cold spray, even after the fire was gone.

Control? That was a lie. It never listened. It just… burned.

I wrapped myself in the towel again, trying to slow my breathing.

Voices drifted through the cabin when I stepped out into the hallway—low but heated. I couldn’t make out the words at first. I didn’t want to.

I crept towards Xander’s room. It felt like the safest place right now.

“She’s terrified enough as it is!” Orion’s voice carried down the hallway.

I stopped cold. My throat tightened.

They were talking about me. Of course they were.

“She’s already been through enough, Ragnar—“

I rushed into Xander’s room before I could hear any more and shut the door behind me, pressing my back to it like it could hold the weight of everything crashing down inside me.

I wasn’t terrified.

I was unraveling.

I dressed quickly, fingers fumbling with the seams of borrowed fabric. Another shirt too big for me, the scent of mint still buried in the collar. I took a deep breath before unlocking Orion’s phone.

6:07 a.m.

Too early to call.

Too late not to.

I stared at the numbers for a long moment, my stomach churning. What was I even supposed to say to Louise? Sorry, I burned down your life? The guilt pooled deep, sharp and sour. It might not have been my flames, but it was still my fault.

I hit the call button before I could chicken out.

One ring. Two…

Each pulse louder than the last, syncing with my heartbeat, with the roar in my ears that only grew louder with every second that passed.

Three… Four.

“Hello?”

Her voice cracked on the word, hoarse and raw.

“Louise,” I whispered, my throat burning.

“Oh my God, Eve, you’re okay! I’ve been trying the landline all night—I didn’t know if—” Her voice broke, trembling under the weight of the words. “The police called, and they said there was an explosion, and I just… I didn’t know if you’d gotten out.”

“I’m okay,” I managed, but my chest felt like it was trapped in a vise.

“There was a gas explosion,” she said, her voice cracking again. “The whole diner is just… gone, Eve. It’s gone.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over as the weight of her grief slammed into me. She was crying too, the sound of it raw and heart-wrenching, and I couldn’t hold back the sob that tore from my throat.

“I’m so sorry,” I choked out, the words catching on the lump in my throat. “Louise, I’m so sorry.”

“I thought—God, I thought—” she broke off, breath hitching.

“I… wasn’t there when it happened.” I wanted to choke on that lie, to tell her the whole truth and just how sorry I was, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk dragging her further into the mess I was creating. “I’m with Orion. That’s why I didn’t answer. But it doesn’t matter. I’m coming to you now.”

“Oh, Evie,” she said, sniffing. “There’s nothing left. It’s just ashes and rubble. You don’t need to come down here. You shouldn’t have to see this.”

“I’m coming,” I said firmly, cutting her off before she could argue. “I’m not letting you go through this alone. You’re my family, Louise. I’ll be there soon.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence heavy but not empty. It was the kind of quiet that said more than words ever could, a shared understanding of loss and the weight of what came next.

“Okay,” Louise said finally, her voice soft but no less heavy. “Okay.”