She tastes like tears and syrup and fear. I draw her in. Her fingers splay on my chest. Her body presses.
When we break, her breath hitches.
“Is this real?” she whispers.
Instinct wants to shoutYes. But nerves hold it back.
I pull her closer and kiss her again, letting it answer.
She rests her forehead against me. I hold her so she knows: I’m not leaving. Not when the truth is ready, even if it’s late.
CHAPTER 26
ALAINA
The overhead lights flicker as I cross The Docking Bay Lounge, carrying two half-empty drink trays. The smell of spilled ale, fried protein slabs, and humid metal presses around me. Troka sits at the far end of the bar, leaning casually over an open ledger, scales faintly glowing in the dim light, golden eyes flicking up at me.
I try to straighten my spine, mask my nerves. I’ve spent too many nights dodging the conversation, hiding in jokes and half-measures. But he’s looking at me now like something’s cracked—like he senses what I’ve hidden.
I deposit one tray by the jukebox, the other on the counter by him. “Drink’s on the under-pay table,” I mutter, meeting his gaze. My heart thuds.
He glances at the tray, then looks back at me. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
I nod, fingers brushing his elbow as I step by. A promise in touch and fear.
Later, after hours, the bar’s mostly dark, neon underglow the only light.
Troka slides into the booth across from me, silent. His presence always feels too much or not enough. He leans forward, voice low. “Alaina.”
I don’t look up. I can taste the coppery tang of fear on my tongue.
“You’ve been quiet tonight.”
I take a slow breath. “Tired.”
He frowns. “Is that all?”
I force a laugh. “You’d know me better if you didn’t interrupt so much.”
He licks his lips. “I’m trying to understand you. To be with you.”
I stare at the grain of the table between us. “Sometimes the distance feels like a widening chasm. Every kind word, every look—it feels like a countdown.”
He reaches for my hand. Warm, solid. The thing I want to trust more than anything.
“My silence isn’t your fault,” I whisper.
He breathes. “Then tell me.”
I lean back, voice trembling. “I want to. God, I want to. But every time I’m ready, the words die.” I look at him. “Do you think I’m broken?”
He hesitates. “No.” His tone rings. “Just delayed. Scared.”
I laugh. A sharp, brittle thing. “Scared? Oh, I’m scared. That you’ll leave. That when I speak, I’ll ruin something we’re only just starting to build.”
He squeezes my hand. “Then we build anyway. I’m not going anywhere.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. I shake my head. “You deserve more. More truth. More solid ground than I’ve given you.”
