➤ BAD IDEAS & BURIED THREADS 
[9:57 PM — Handover Street Adjacent]

"So," Kade nudged, his eyes alight with mischief and curiosity, "what exactly did you whisper to that guy? Before he ran off like the devil was chasing him?"

I moved to a shallower cut on his shoulder, dabbing it with iodine. “Nothing worth repeating.”

"You dropped gang names. Sounded pretty worth repeating," he argued lightly.

I pressed the bandage on with more pressure than strictly necessary. He sucked in a breath but didn’t pull away. "Are we done?"

He held up his hands in mock surrender, his sharp eyes fixed on me—calculating, curious, like I was a locked door and he’d just found the first key.

“Touchy subject. Got it,” he said, a hint of his earlier innocence in his voice."

Then, he calmly said, not asked, "Let me take you out to dinner."

I paused mid-moving supplies. "...What?"

"You saved me twice now. Feels like I owe you at least one steak," he said challengingly, a quick, confident flash crossing his face. "Or do women as intimidating as you prefer sushi?"

“That won’t be necessary.”

"Come on—one date. I'll even wear body armor this time."

Snapping open the antiseptic bottle for distraction, I noticed how the sharp smell made him wrinkle his nose in momentary protest. "I have a boyfriend," I said quickly—too quickly—to be convincing.

"Huh," he replied flatly. He tilted his head, a slow, appraising look in his eyes, like he'd found a crack in my façade. “That so?” he drawled.

I didn’t answer. Mostly because I was too busy mentally kicking myself for delivering that lie with the confidence of a mobster on the witness stand—cigar in mouth, winking at the jury.

Cynic Kyra: Idiot. Lying is only effective when you're not staring at his mouth while doing it.

“What’s he like?” he asked casually. “This oh-so-real boyfriend of yours.”

“Tall. Quiet. Allergic to egomaniacs.” I busied myself unwrapping the suture kit again, just to watch the flicker of alarm in his eyes.

Kade didn’t even flinch. If anything, his grin deepened. “Tragic. Sounds like we’d get along terribly.”

“You’re not his or my type.”

“No? But I’ve got that whole bleeding-and-punched-in-the-ribs vibe going for me. Chicks dig a man in pain.”

My hands froze mid-motion. The needle hovered over his skin. “Only if they’re the ones delivering it.”

“Kinky.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it almost gave me a migraine.

“Well,” he winked, an infuriating glint in his eye, “thank him for lending you out. You make a hell of a bodyguard.”

“Are you always this mouthy when you’re covered in blood?” I tied off the last stitch and sliced the thread clean with my teeth. His pulse jumped under my fingertips, and I didn’t miss it.

He hissed, a familiar glint of amusement in his eyes despite the pain. “Only when gorgeous women are playing nurse.”

“I’m applying antiseptic, not drafting romance novels.”

“Hey, a man can dream.”

Leaning in just slightly, I lowered my voice to a warning. “Dream any harder and I might trade stitching for stapling.”

He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Noted. Keep the dreamscape staple-free.”

I pressed gauze onto his wound with more force than necessary.
He winced again but didn’t complain this time.

The silence stretched long enough to feel weighty—laden with unspoken truths and barely concealed edges.

Blood beaded along the freshly closed incision. I pressed clean gauze against it, watching his ribs rise and fall in controlled breaths. 

✦✦✦

➤ CLOSURE (NOT THE THERAPY KIND) 
[10:26 PM — Handover Street Adjacent]

He squinted at the bloody mess. “These smells... flammable.”

“It is. Sit still.”

“I don’t like how that sounds.”

“Would you like a lollipop instead? Maybe a sticker that says ‘I survived being dumb in an alley’?”

“I’ll take one that says: ‘Still hotter than your ex.’”

I dabbed disinfectant with pointed enthusiasm this time, earning another flinch for good measure.

“You know,” he muttered a hint of a smile touching his lips, “only you would weaponize gauze.”

I leaned in, deadpan. “You’re lucky there no bone saw in here.”

He grinned through the pain. “God help the guy who breaks your heart.”

“God? He subcontracted that job to me.”

Securing the bandage with deliberate precision, I wound the tape around his torso in slow loops, my knuckles brushing his warm skin as I worked. His breath hitched slightly when my thumb skimmed the lowest bruise.

A slow, lazy curl appeared on his mouth. “I’ve always said nothing brings two people together like minor blood loss.”

“Is that before or after the stitches?”

“During,” Kade quipped, he said, eyes tracing my face. “Ideally with a bit of eye contact and emotional scarring.”

“You flirt like you’re high on expired anesthesia.”

“And you patch wounds like it’s foreplay.”

“Try not to get attached.”

His laugh dissolved into a pained groan as I pressed the final strip into place. The stark white bandages stood out against his golden skin like marks of honor or battle scars.

With a sharp twang, I peeled off my gloves and reached for the kit, snapping it shut with finality before turning toward the door to leave.

The cling of antiseptic and his cologne stayed stubbornly on my skin.

"Wait... one more thing," his voice broke through just as I was halfway out of the car door.

I hesitated, turning back slightly.

"You called me by my name earlier—Kade,” he said, his tone equal parts curiosity and challenge. “When you told me to lift my shirt."

Air lodged in my throat, my chest defying every impulse to properly breathe.

"I’ve never told you my name," he continued, the edges of his words sharper now as I remained silent.

I recovered quickly, shrugging with forced indifference. "You’re a Sterling. Your face is plastered across half the finance blogs and dating horror stories in circulation. Not exactly what I’d call low profile."

He leaned back slightly, studying me, his eyes narrowing. "Right. Sure. Just… thought it rang familiar."

His gaze lingered longer than necessary, as though he was teasing at the edge of some buried truth, waiting for it to unravel.

I forced a smile I didn’t feel. "Must be déjà vu."

He didn’t press further, but the intensity of his look left no doubt—he wasn’t ready to let this go.

I bolted from the car before he could dig deeper. The night air hit my face with a cold slap—clean, bracing, unyielding reality.

Then the hum of an electric window lowering pierced the calm.

"Thanks again, Professor," he said smoothly from behind me.

My stomach plummeted like a stone in dark water. I turned on instinct, the question spilling out before I could think straight. "How did you—"

Suddenly, my faculty ID dangled from his fingers like a hook in open water:
Assistant Professor K. Volkova
Epsilon University.

My heart sank before my hand could react. It wasn’t just that he knew. It was that I’d let him.

I snatched it back, my grip overly tight, throat clenched shut.

He gave me a lazy two-finger salute, his expression unbothered yet alive with an unsettling flicker of recognition.

He pulled away into the night without another word, leaving behind only questions that buzzed with menace.

I used his name like I had a right to it.
Now he wielded mine like a warning shot.

Cynic Kyra: You absolute amateur. First your mouth, now your badge? What’s next? A heartfelt LinkedIn invite?

Long after his taillights faded into the distance, I remained rooted where I stood, my fingers clenched tightly around the ID as if it held the answers I couldn’t face yet.

He knew my name now.

And Kade Sterling wasn’t the kind of man to stop tugging once a thread fell into his grasp.