That night, they returned to the penthouse.

Somewhere along the journey, they had stopped talking, letting the silence hang heavy between them. Maybe it was because they had nothing else to say for the night. Maybe it was because something had shifted in one or both of them. The only noise they could hear were their footsteps echoing through too-clean halls. The illusion of serenity pressed in again.

Aurora didn’t speak. Not when the elevator hummed upward. Not when the doors slid open. Not when Milo handed her another cold soda and stepped out onto the balcony like the city was his personal afterthought.

Artificial stars blinked in the sky, too orderly, too symmetrical.

She followed, slowly.

For a moment, they stood side by side. Lights stretched across the kingdom below like pinned constellations. Too bright to be honest. Aurora didn’t drink. She just held the can, eyes scanning rooftops. “Feels like we’re above it all.”

Milo tilted his head. “Maybe we are.”

The cold nipped at her skin. “So… in half a month, Cerceras leaves Blade. You get stronger. He gets stronger.” She tilted her head. “But I’m starting to doubt this is really about freedom anymore.” She nodded toward the city. “Let me guess—you’re doing all this for power.”

He laughed, low and warm.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head with a faint smile. “Normally I’d gape at that.” Her gaze met his. “But the more power you have, the better your odds at beating him, and that’s good for humanity, right?”

“A necessary evil,” he said. “But you’re still not seeing all of it.”

She studied him for a few seconds. “You really do believe in the craving,” she said quietly. “You chase meaning like other people chase safety.” She swallowed. “I think I finally understand what drives you.”

She remembered the kids they had once been. She let herself ponder whether he really did feel regret. She remembered leaving him in the cave. Leaving him behind and alone. She thought about how he had tracked her down in this life, and had saved her from a life of hiding. Of rot. Then she asked, “What would happen if I kissed you?” It wasn’t just flirtation, but also a challenge. A curiosity. A question aimed like a blade.

Milo looked at her slowly. His expression didn’t change, but the air did. “You’d regret it,” he said. “Eventually.”

“But you’d let it happen?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t look away.

So she stepped forward, not trembling or uncertain. Just… tired of watching from the outside.

Their mouths met in stillness. Her fingers gripped his shoulders. His hand hovered near her face but didn’t close the gap. When they broke apart, the silence deepened. Milo didn’t move, just stared at her like she’d cracked a mirror and he wasn’t sure which reflection he preferred.

He looked away, laughing toward the stars. “Interesting,” he murmured. “I told myself I could walk besides you without consequence. But now I see…”

He wasn’t happy. He looked so conflicted. But when he turned to look at her, she took his breath away. When they kissed, it was soft against the lights of the stars and the city. It was recognition.

Of what they’d been. Of what they were. Of what they would never undo.

____

She’d fallen asleep again, curled against his side like she belonged there.

Milo hadn’t moved. He stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t feel control. He just felt… still.

For once.

Her breath moved softly against his skin, her body, still warm from where she’d taken him and he’d let her. And for the first time, he didn’t see her as unfinished.

He saw her as real.

Part of him wanted to dismiss it. File it under chemical reward. Attachment. Projection. But something about her—this girl who once clawed through fire to escape obedience—was still humming beneath the surface, intoxicating him.

He remembered how she had left him in that cave a lifetime ago, her gratitude unexpected. Her courage where fear should have roamed. Love where bitterness should have simmered. And he thought about the night before.

Her kiss: hungry. Not performance. Not seduction. Authenticity. He could still feel it beneath his ribs. And it did something to him. Not softness.

Wonder.

She exhilarated me once by refusing to break. Now she’s doing it by letting me in.

For a brief, dangerous moment, he let himself believe it might mean something. That maybe this was the anomaly he was waiting for all his life. Not just chaos. Not just mind. But feeling. Pure and impossible.

That maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t seen the end of his own story after all.

He watched her, almost tenderly. She stirred. Smiled as her eyes met his. Her hand traced his cheek. “I wasn’t dreaming,” she murmured. And in his chest, something sharp and strange unfolded.

Cerceras help me, he thought. She’s going to undo me.

—---------------

He was already up by the time she stepped out of the bedroom. Coffee already brewed. The feel of the heat from the fireplace contrasting the cold air. The view of the building sprawling out the window.

He turned when he heard her. “You really don’t sleep,” she said, smiling. His breath hitched, though he didn’t show it. She was radiant. Not just physically—though that would’ve been easy to want. No, she was radiant in the way she moved now. Light. Unworried.

Soft.

He remembered the girl who was ready to kill him. The girl who made her choices and didn’t hesitate. He handed her a cup of coffee.

He watched the way she moved—confident in his presence, sure of her welcome. Then she walked up and kissed him on the cheek. Hungry.

And that was when it hit him, dread dropping into the pit of his stomach.

She was his.

He moved back to the living room and sat, dissecting the knot that had formed in his stomach. He sipped. She joined him on the couch as she spoke, leaning on him naturally, sharing their warmth. Light. Unthinking. And all the while, his thoughts spun in cold, tight circles.

This isn’t who she used to be. Something had shifted. A puzzle unbeknownst to him. She used to flinch. Question. Bleed with her teeth bared. Now she’s glowing because I let her in. Because I didn’t destroy her. She used to claw the world apart just to survive it. Now she was smiling like she’d been saved.

She thinks that’s what this is. He looked at her. And for the first time since she’d joined him—she felt… predictable.

She leaned in and kissed him again, slowly, like a promise. He barely kissed her back.

She thought nothing of it. She was blinded by the lust that was right in front of them. He could see nothing in her eyes except for pure seduction. She would burn for him, but what about herself? At this rate, would there be anything left?

Though he didn’t stop her as she claimed all parts of him, something inside him was already stepping away.

What I felt was real, yes. But she’s becoming soft for me, not strong beside me.

Worse than that? I’m starting to want to keep her despite all this...

And that is the first sign of rot.

This won’t do. He stared out at the skyscrapers, barely feeling her. Because to him, there was one thought: only the unreplicable is sacred. That’s why the only thing that matters is what you’re willing to die for. That’s what makes it so sacred. And now she was touching his wrist like any woman might.

If she becomes mine, she becomes replaceable.

If I become hers, I already am.

He waited until she left the room. Then, he stood, the light of her kiss still clung to his cheek.

He let it stay.