What his room smelled like after rain.
What made him angry.
What made him lonely.
What made someone as beautiful and powerful as him look at the world like he expected it to leave far too soon.
“Yes,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
His expression changed instantly.
Darkened.
“What do you really want, sweet Luna?” he asked, voice dropping lower. “You want my secrets?”
The way he said Luna should have been illegal.
Soft and rough all at once, like the word belonged in his mouth.
Like maybe I belonged there too.
“I just…” I swallowed hard. “I want to know you.”
The truth sat exposed between us.
Terrifying.
Because wanting someone meant vulnerability.
And vulnerability had never ended well for me.
Still, something about Sten felt different.
Wrong in every logical way.
Right in every instinctive one.
Like some hidden part of me had recognized him long before my brain caught up.
And before I could think better of it—before fear or anxiety could stop me—I reached toward him.
Wanted him.
Needed him.
I had to feel him beneath my fingers.
Just one touch.
To know if his skin was as warm as I imagined.
To prove he was real.
To satisfy the aching curiosity growing sharper every second I spent near him.
Because the more I learned about Sten, the more impossible it became not to want him.
Not just physically.
