She leads me toward the entrance.
And I follow her inside.
CHAPTER 17
EVIE
Kauss ducks automatically when we enter my apartment even though the ceiling clears him by at least a foot.
The motion is so absurdly careful that affection nearly folds me in half right there in the entryway.
“You know you fit, right?” I ask softly as I lock the door behind us.
“Yes.”
“Then why do you keep ducking?”
“In case the ceiling changes unexpectedly.”
I laugh under my breath while slipping out of my jacket. “Very dangerous ceilings in Halo.”
“I do not trust architecture built before the war.”
“That is fair, honestly.”
My apartment is small. Lived-in small. The kind of apartment inherited through generations of stubborn working-class women who repaired things instead of replacing them. Warm amber lamps soften the cracked walls and mismatched furniture. Plants crowd the windowsills because my grandmother believed a home without growing things became emotionally constipated. Old music drifts quietly from the kitchen speaker where I left a playlist running before the date.Rain taps against the narrow windows overlooking Halo’s wet neon streets below.
The apartment smells like vanilla candles, old books, fresh laundry, and the faint lingering sweetness of bakery sugar worked so deeply into my life that I probably carry it in my skin now.
Kauss stands just inside the doorway looking around like I brought him into a sacred site.
That feeling hits me again.
Threshold.
He warned me without realizing he was warning me. This matters to him in ways deeper than sex. Deeper than attraction. I can see it in the way his eyes move slowly over the apartment instead of scanning tactically. He notices the framed holo-photo of my grandparents by the shelf. The faded blanket over the couch. The old ceramic bowl by the kitchen sink holding spare keys and receipts. The stack of recipe binders near the counter with flour fingerprints permanently worked into the covers.
“You live here,” he says quietly.
The sentence should not affect me.
It does anyway.
“Usually, yes.”
His gaze shifts toward me.
I smile gently. “You say things like that when you’re overwhelmed.”
“I am not overwhelmed.”
“You are standing like someone brought you to meet royalty.”
“That would also be overwhelming.”
I step closer, reaching carefully for his hand again. His fingers curl around mine instantly, warm and rough and steady despite the tension still riding beneath his skin.
“This is just my apartment,” I say.
