“This is a mistake.”
“Probably.”
For several long seconds we stand there in the quiet corridor, balanced on the edge of something dangerous and painfully familiar. Then he reaches out and touches my wrist with a light, tentative motion that somehow carries more electricity than a dozen reckless gestures ever could. The contact sends a warmspark racing up my arm, the same impossible reaction my body used to have every time he came near me.
I close my eyes.
“Tell me it didn’t matter,” he murmurs.
“It didn’t?—”
The lie collapses halfway through the sentence.
Because the truth is standing right in front of me.
His fingers tighten slightly around my wrist. “Tilda.”
When I open my eyes again, the expression on his face isn’t smug or triumphant.
It’s hopeful.
That single detail is exactly why I should walk away.
Instead I step closer.
What follows isn’t a careful decision so much as a collision between years of unresolved anger, attraction, and unfinished conversation. The door slides shut behind us almost as an afterthought, and the quiet room beyond it fills with the sound of two people who never quite managed to stop wanting each other.
Much later the storm finally burns itself out, leaving behind the quiet aftermath of tangled sheets and unsteady breathing. The room smells faintly of warm skin and the citrus soap used in the compound showers. I lie on my back staring at the ceiling for a long moment before the weight of reality slowly settles back into place.
Bron shifts beside me and lets out a quiet breath. “Well,” he says, his voice softer than usual, “that answers one question.”
“What question?” I ask without turning my head.
“Whether the chemistry disappeared.”
I already know the answer to that, and the knowledge sits heavy in my chest.
It never disappeared.
It only waited.
Which is precisely why this was such a terrible idea.
I push myself upright and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Bron watches me with an expression that looks more thoughtful than satisfied.
“You regret it already,” he says.
“Yes.”
“That was fast.”
“I told you this was a mistake.”
“Didn’t feel like one a minute ago.”
“That’s because emotions make people stupid.”
He laughs quietly, though there’s no real humor behind the sound. “You’ve always been good at brutal honesty.”
