“Bash?” His name tears from me, small and broken. I’m nearly doubled over, the threat of losing him for good crushing my ribs inward.

  “Do you love him like you loved me?”

  The words tumble out before I can stop them, desperate to hear the answer while never wanting to know.

  He pauses, head bowed and shoulders rising on a shaky breath. The silence stretches until I can barely breathe through it.

  “Just let me let you go, Xeni,” he says at last. “Leave. Run away like you always do. Can’t you do that for me?”

  “No,” I whisper. Tears stream unchecked, carving tracks down my face. “I can’t.”

  “Please,” he says, voice breaking. “Make this easier. Leave me to pick up the pieces one last time. You owe me that much.”

  He walks out without looking back, and the door closes with a soft click that echoes louder than any slam in the hollow space he leaves behind. I call his name long after the lock turns, my voice cracking into raw, wrenching sobs that tear from my throat in the empty dark.

  Each one is a plea for the impossible.

  For him to come back.

  For the years to rewind.

  For the love that still consumes every part of me to be enough to fix what I broke.

  But wishes aren’t always granted, and prayers go unanswered.

  Maybe one last kiss is all the Fates will allow.

  I press my fingers to my mouth, holding onto the ghost of his lips as I slide to the ground and cry.

  Bash

  “Are we here to discuss your problem?” Ego flops into the chair across from me, legs kicked out and arms draped over the sides like she owns the damn place.

  “And what problem might that be?” I challenge with a tight smile.

  “Oh, I don’t know…” She taps her chin theatrically, eyes positively gleaming with mischief. “Some tall, pretty number with majestic white hair? A little over six feet of brooding angst wrapped in a uniform that’s way too tight for anyone’s good?”

  Her tone drips with teasing, but her gaze is razor-sharp.

  I haven’t breathed a word to her about my late-night visit to Xeni, but she sees everything around here.

  “No,” I chide, as my arms fold over my chest. “We’re not.”

  She’s unfazed as she arches a brow, curling her lip into a slow, wicked grin. “Touchy. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  “Ego,” I warn as I lean in over the table. “Drop it.”

  “Or what?” she purrs, leaning in too, undaunted. “You’ll glare me to death? Newsflash, handsome, that smolder only works on one person around here, and he’s not me.”

  I huff a laugh despite myself, rubbing a hand over my face. “You’re impossible.”

  “And you’re obvious,” she fires back, flicking a finger against my forearm. “Sitting there all doom and gloom, pining over Mr. Tall, Pale, and Traumatized—”

  “Enough!” I groan, pleading with my eyes, and she finally settles back into her chair with a dramatic eyeroll and gestures for me to take the reins.

  Cato heaves a resigned sigh from beside me. He has plenty more to say on the matter, but he stays blessedly silent for once.

  Everyone at the table either stares uncomfortably at the wall or watches with obvious interest.

  Piper sits beside Ego. She has a photographic memory, and has every building in the city memorized, down to the floor plans and who occupies each space. She can place the important players like chess pieces and has dirt on half of them. Jayce lounges on the other side of Cato, all brawn with little patience for strategy, and Sakane perches beyond him.

  I blow out a heavy breath and drag my palm over my hair, my cheeks burning from the attention. Determined to get this train back on the tracks, I clear my throat and glance around the table.

  “Leif stopped by this morning to ask for our help. Nothing major,” I hurry to add as amusement turns to concern. “They’ve spent the past few days doing recon and have gathered more details about these meetings. It’s definitely the High Commanders, and from the information they’ve collected, at least two of them are traveling into the city. Leif also has reason to believe one might already be living in Atlanta.”

  “Right under our fucking noses?” Cato demands.

  I nod, lips pulling tight. “If they’re here, it’s likely in City Center. Probably in one of the high-rises.”

  “What does Leif want us to do?” Ego asks.

  “For now, just keep watch. Scout the central district, talk to our contacts, and be on the lookout for anything unusual. Large platoons, heightened security around buildings, that sort of thing.”

  “Well, that’s safe enough for the moment, I suppose,” Ego mutters, before leaning over the table to sketch a rough map. “We should divide into groups and split the district into quadrants…”

  I sit back, grateful to let her take the lead. Strategy is her strength, and right now my thoughts are too scattered to form a coherent plan. The conversation flows around me as they hash out specifics, and I absorb everything in silence.

  The door swings open, and I expect Talia with a pot of coffee for the group.

  What I find instead is Xeni.

  Talia is there too, grinning and staring at him adoringly as they stumble into the room together.

  When the initial shock of seeing him out of his room fades, my gaze drops lower, and I realize he’s wearing a t-shirt and little else. He carries a bottle of rum by its neck, and when he lifts it to his lips, the shirt rides up to reveal satiny, powder-blue panties hugging the swell of his groin.

  I see red.

  “Xenesis! What the fuck?!” I surge to my feet so fast the chair scrapes back with a screech and nearly falls.

  A slow smile forms around the bottle’s rim as he takes a long swig, his eye glassy and cheeks flushed. Rum glistens on his lips as I storm over and tug at the hem, trying to yank it down and preserve whatever shred of modesty he has left. Droplets of rum roll down the bottle’s neck and onto the fabric of his shirt.

  “What’s the matter, darling?” he slurs, that lazy grin spreading wider.

  He sways, and he’s utterly unbothered by my frantic effort to keep him covered. His eye is half-lidded as he watches me fuss.

  “Don’t you like the view?” he taunts, liquor making his voice thick.

  I yank the bottle away and slam it onto the table before whirling on Talia.

  “Why is he out?”

  She laughs with a carefree shrug but doesn’t answer.

  “What did you do to her?” I demand as I turn back to Xeni.

  He hiccups and reaches around me for the rum, but I block his hands and tug the shirt down again as it threatens to expose his ass.

  He pouts, blinking a few times as he stumbles, then gestures at Talia. “I thought it would be fun if she let me out.”

  “Fun?!” I demand, half crazed.

  He boops my nose, then loses his balance again, and I grab him by the arms to steady him.

  His drunken, lopsided grin spreads. “You were always so cute when you’re angry, do you know that? And you fuck so good when you're pissed…”

  “Focus, Xenesis,” I snap. “Did you force her to unlock the door?”

  He pinches his fingers together in front of my face, squinting at the tiny space between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Maybe a little?” he admits, the grin never fading even as another hiccup escapes.

  “Mind worms,” Sakane whispers behind me.

  “And is this my shirt?!” I demand, tugging the hem down once more.

  He laughs louder, lifting his arms in a wobbly attempt at a pirouette that nearly sends him toppling while I scramble to keep him covered.

  “It is!” he says as he grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Talia had a great idea to steal your shirt and make it smell like me. It was a good idea, right Talia?”

  “An amazing idea!” she agrees, snatching the rum to take a drink.

  Xeni leans in conspiratorially, one hand half-covering his mouth as he stumbles closer, breath warm with rum against my ear.

  “It was actually my idea!” he stage-whispers loudly enough for the whole room to hear, his grin wide and utterly shameless.

  “Everyone out,” I demand, too flustered to put any power behind the words, but the others obey regardless. Chairs scoot as they stand and head for the door.

  I manage to call out one last request. “Sakane, make sure Talia drinks plenty of water and get her to bed.”

  “You got it, boss,” he says as everyone files out into the hallway.

  Cato pauses at the door and glances over. “Are you good in here?”

  Xeni wraps his arms around my waist, and his lip curls in a snarl

  He glares at Cato, jabbing an unsteady finger in his direction. “Stop talking to him. He doesn’t love you, gingersnap, and you're getting in my way. Maybe I should just force you to take a little trip out the window. What floor are we on? The fifth?” He nods thoughtfully, then snorts a delirious laugh. “High enough to make an impact. Get it!?”

  “For the love of the gods,” I snap, “no one is jumping out windows. That’s enough.”

  Xeni’s face falls like I’ve hurt his feelings, and his pouting lips curve into a deep frown.

  “It’s just a little jump,” he argues, “and technically not murder if he does it himself.”

  Cato huffs an indignant laugh despite himself.

  Xeni’s gaze snaps back to him. “I could do it, you know. But Bash is being Mr. Responsible and said no. Maybe instead I’ll tell you to grab that pen and jab it into your eye. We could match! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  His voice turns dangerous and silky smooth as he leans towards Cato.

  “Pick it up,” Xeni purrs.

  The drunken grin on his face twists into a malicious thing, hardened with a dark edge I’ve never seen. He’s completely enthralled by what he’s doing.

  Cato’s eyes widen as his hand jerks toward the pen on the table, fingers closing around it against his will. His knuckles whiten as he fights the compulsion with a strangled growl.

  “This isn’t funny!” Cato shouts, the words cracking with panic as the pen inches closer to his face. “What the fuck, Bash? Tell him the truth already!”

  “The truth?” Xeni demands, attention whipping back to me. The air crackles as Cato continues to struggle, his veins bulging in his neck, but Xeni doesn’t look away from me.

  “This isn’t… stop that!” I beg, my wide eyes darting between Xeni, Cato, and the pen creeping inexorably closer.

  “But he’s keeping you from me,” Xeni whines, the sound petulant and chilling all at once, “and I want to know what he’s talking about.”

  I set my jaw and force my eyes to stay on his. “No one is keeping me from you besides you. Cato and I aren’t together, so leave him out of this.”

  Xeni’s eye goes round as Cato’s hand relaxes and the pen clatters to the floor. “You lied to me?”

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” I challenge.

  His cheeks flush a deep crimson, anger and hurt warring across his features as he cups my face, thumbs brushing my skin in a surprising tenderness.

  “Oh, darling, I never lied to you,” he whispers.

  He dips his head as if to kiss me, close enough that his rum-scented breath mingles with mine, and I hate that I don’t stop him.

  I hate how part of me still craves it even as the rest of me screams to pull away.

  “Dom—” Cato starts, his voice cutting through the haze, but Xeni turns like a feral thing, teeth bared in a snarl stripped of all inhibition.

  “Just go,” I say as I steer Xeni’s face back to mine with careful hands. “I’ve got him.”

  Cato hesitates, but Xeni has always been impulsive, and when he’s drunk, he’s pure emotion. I can’t risk him hurting Cato.

  “We’re good,” I insist.

  “Alright,” Cato says at last, giving me one lingering, concerned look before closing the door behind him.

  “You’re drunk and half-naked,” I say to Xeni, my voice softening now that we’re alone.

  “I am,” he agrees with a brilliant, drunken smile that lights up his face like he’s proud of it.

  “What did you do to Talia?”

  He chuckles, low and self-satisfied. It rumbles against my chest as he pulls my face closer with surprising strength for someone so unsteady. Before I can react, his mouth crashes against mine.

  He kisses me with hungry, breath-stealing desperation that tastes of rum and something uniquely him. For a heartbeat, I melt into the perfect way he fits against me, the familiar heat flooding back like muscle memory.

  But sense slams back into me, and I nudge him away with a palm flat on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath my fingers. His bottom lip pokes out in an exaggerated pout as the space opens between us.

  “That’s enough,” I scold gently, though my voice wavers more than I’d like. “What did you do to her?”

  “It was just a little… suggestion.”

  “Suggestion?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he hums. “I suggested she let me out, and she seemed excited. Then I suggested we find the liquor, and after that, we decided to steal your shirt so I could smell like you.”

  “And you lost your pants somewhere along the way?”

  “Yesss,” he hisses with a grin before he backs up and lifts his arms in another wobbly twirl. The shirt rides higher, exposing those damn panties and the long, lean lines of his thighs.

  Miles of pale skin are on display, and the alcohol steals some of his usual grace, but his movements are still fluid. I can’t help it as my eyes shift to the perfect dips on the sides of his ass and the swell between his legs.

  “Xenesis,” I say quietly.

  He pouts again as he faces me. “Don’t call me that.”

  “It’s your name.”

  “Not to you,” he argues as he steps forward, and it catches me off guard as he pushes me.

  I land in the chair behind me, and his knees fall onto either side of my thighs as he sinks into my lap. The fabric of the shirt lifts to expose his panties, and the defined crease between his thigh and hip is practically begging to be touched.

  “Xenesis,” I warn with the last threads of my control, and I grip his hips to still him even as everything in me screams to pull him closer.

  He shakes his head defiantly, white hair falling across his forehead in disheveled strands that make him look even wilder.

  “No,” he murmurs, the word soft but stubborn. “I’m not that to you. I’m your Xen… your peaceful place.”

  “You were,” I agree, the admission rough in my throat, “but things are different now.”

  “They don’t have to be,” he whispers, draping his arms over my shoulders and threading his fingers into my hair.

  He leans in until his breath ghosts my lips, and his hips roll slowly, grinding against me in a rhythm that’s pure torture. I bite back a groan as the friction ignites memories I’ve tried so hard to bury.

  Nights when this felt like salvation, not destruction.

  His fingers dig into the nape of my neck, nails scraping lightly in that way he knows undoes me. The tip of his cock presses against the satin of his panties, dampness spreading across the fabric in a warm bloom.

  “We can’t keep doing this,” I manage, my hands tightening on his hips in a futile attempt to hold us both still.

  He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his gaze dark and pleading beneath the haze of alcohol.

  “Why not?” he breathes, hips rolling with maddening patience. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t feel it too.”

  I swallow hard, throat dry as the words stick. “It’s not about wanting. It’s about what happens after.”

  His expression flickers, hurt flashing across his face before defiance clamps down hard.

  “After doesn’t matter right now,” he murmurs as he leans in until our foreheads touch, his breath unsteady against my lips. “Just this. Just us. Please, Bash… let me have this.”

  “We can’t.”

  “We can,” he argues, the words both fierce and fragile, and he presses a quick, desperate kiss to my lips. “Hate me again tomorrow if you need to. Just love me tonight.”

  The plea in his voice unravels me further, and I close my eyes against the storm, hands sliding up his back despite myself.

  “Xeni…”

  “Say yes,” he whispers against my lips, the words a soft demand wrapped in desperation. “Just for tonight. Say yes.”

  He arches his spine, offering himself completely, but as my eyes move down his body, a streak of crimson on his inner thigh catches my eye.

  My haze clears in an instant.

  “What’s that?” I ask as I stand, arms banded tight around him to keep him steady.

  He whimpers at the shift, a needy, broken sound that tugs at my chest, and he clings to me as I lift him and set him on the edge of the table. He spreads his legs wider, wanton and unashamed. His hips rock forward as he tries to pull me back in for another kiss, lips chasing mine like he’s starving.

  I nudge his shoulders until he’s propped on his elbows, knees parted wide and chest heaving with ragged breaths. His gaze burns with raw need, but my focus locks on the roadmap of scars covering the inside of his thighs.

  Hundreds of thin lines scatter in chaotic, overlapping patterns, some faded to pale pink ghosts, others fresh and angry red against his skin. One weeps slow drops of blood that glisten in the dim light.

  My heart breaks all over again, and the fracture steals my breath.

  “Xeni, what is this?”

  Panic flashes across his face, euphoria draining away in an instant as his eye widens and color floods his cheeks. He tries to close his legs, thighs trembling as he snaps them together.

  “It’s nothing,” he mutters, gaze dropping to the floor as he curls inward.

  “It’s not nothing,” I retort as I part his knees. I lean closer, tracing the scars with shaking fingertips and a tenderness that belies the storm inside me.

  “Who did this to you? Who…”

  My gaze meets his, and the shame I find there is crushing.