POV: Lucian Mareis

Lucian walked beside Nareth down the quiet street, the night heavy with the scent of rain. The pavement gleamed faintly beneath the dim glow of the streetlamps, their footsteps echoing in uneven rhythm. The silence between them pressed in, louder than words, heavier than the sky above.

Every second felt like borrowed time.

He wanted to speak—to confess, to beg, to shatter the distance between them with the truth he carried like a blade in his chest. But every glance Nareth threw his way cut deep, sharp and questioning. If he broke the silence now, if he laid his heart bare, the truth might cut them both to pieces.

Nareth suddenly stopped walking. Lucian froze beside him, heart hammering.

“You know,” Nareth said, his voice calm but edged with steel, “if you’re hiding something… it won’t stay hidden forever.”

The words fell between them like a verdict. Lucian’s breath caught, the pulse in his throat beating so loud he was sure Nareth could hear it.

But when he finally met his gaze, all Lucian could do was smile—a hollow, trembling curve of his lips that felt more like surrender than defiance. “Maybe,” he murmured. “But not tonight.”

Nareth’s stare lingered, sharp as a blade poised to strike. Then, without a word, he turned away, his figure retreating into the shadows of the street.

Lucian’s chest ached. The invisible thread between them stretched thinner, weaker… and he didn’t know how much longer it could hold before snapping altogether.

---

POV: Irian Thal

The apartment was too quiet after Daelen left. Too still, as though even the air was holding its breath.

Irian sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the closed door like it might swing open again. His skin still prickled with the Alpha’s lingering presence, the echo of his words curling like smoke through his mind: We could be friends.

Friends. The lie of it made Irian’s chest tighten. He knew what Daelen was—prideful, ruthless, cruel in the way only someone desperate to prove strength could be. And yet… there had been a flicker, a hesitation, when Irian pushed back. A moment where the mask cracked, and something raw slipped through.

Like Daelen wasn’t as unshakable as he wanted the world to believe.

Irian lay back against the mattress, eyes closing, but his thoughts refused to settle. The danger wasn’t in Daelen’s arrogance. The danger was in the possibility that beneath it, there was something else. Something that could draw him closer before he had the sense to run.

He told himself he wouldn’t fall for it. He told himself he was stronger than that.

But when his phone buzzed on the nightstand, screen lighting up with a single message—

> Sweet dreams, Irian.

—his resolve wavered, fragile as glass.