He reels like I struck him, but I keep going.
“This city doesn’t forget. Doesn’t forgive. It swallows girls like me and spits out bones. You think your size protects you? That grin? That snarl? They’ll come for you, Kragna. Same way they came for me. And if they think we matter—if they think wecouldmatter—they’ll tear out our throats and wear them like jewelry.”
I’m breathing hard now, too close, too raw.
He doesn’t back down.
“Then let them try,” he says, voice ragged. “I’d burn this place to ash before I let it take you again.”
There’s a silence. A long, aching stillness between us.
And then he reaches for me.
Not rough. Not forceful.
Just... there.
His hand cups my jaw like it might break if he grips too hard, thumb brushing over the corner of my mouth. My breath stutters.
“You think I can’t see it,” he murmurs, “but I’ve seen you, River. The real you. The fire under the scar tissue. The way you keep walking even with ghosts on your heels.”
I should push him away.
I don’t.
His mouth finds mine—hot and fierce and aching. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s every unsaid word, every sharp-edged feeling we’ve buried under survival. His lips crush into mine like we’re trying to erase the last year, the lasttenyears. I press back with everything I’ve got, arms winding around his neck, fingers digging into his hair.
It’s heat and breath and teeth. It’s the sound he makes when I bite his lip and the growl that escapes when I tug him closer. It’s the way our bodies crash together, all hips and hands and desperation.
And then I stop.
Just for a second. Just enough.
“No,” I whisper against his mouth. “Not here.”
His breath stutters.
“Not yet,” I add, stepping back. “Not in this place. Not in this city full of chains and ghosts.”
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push.
Just stands there, breathing hard, staring at me like I’m the only light in a goddamn pit.
I lick my lips. They taste like him.
“We have a meeting tomorrow,” I say, voice hoarse. “And if we live through it... maybe then.”
His grin is slow. Sharp. But there’s warmth in it, too. Something I can’t name yet.
“Then I’ll wait.”
12
KRAGNA
Night coats the city like soot—thick, clinging, and restless. The kind of dark that smells like old secrets and rat piss. I hate cities.
Especially this one.
