Lys prowled the warehouse’s upper offices in black silk, heels tapping in the hush, her long hair pulled back in a braid so tight it drew the corners of her eyes just a fraction higher—predator’s eyes, shining with calculation and a flicker of something more desperate. Her red mouth twitched as she fingered the invitation Rivel Sharn had slipped beneath the security door—a dare, a threat, an escape clause if she was bold or ruthless enough. Heat lingered along her jaw from Zuriel’s possessive hands only hours ago, and beneath the satin collar of her blazer, bruises bloomed in shadows only she could feel. She pressed a palm there, steadying herself, refusing to let longing weaken the gold-wire logic she still clung to.

She found him—Zuriel—down by the battered vending machine, kicking it with the frustrated grace of someone forever one step away from belonging. Sweat sheened along his jaw, the dark curls at his nape wild from too many sleepless nights. He watched her from beneath heavy brows, jealousy flickering raw in his eyes as she approached, as if he could already smell another man’s danger stitched between her perfume and the crisp lines of her blouse.

“Where’d you run off to?” he muttered, voice rough, possessive. She stared him down, defiant and trembling inside, then shrugged, running her nail along the sharp bone of his jaw with infuriating softness. He caught her wrist, squeezing too hard, anger trembling at the edge of desire. They stood like that—frozen—for a heartbeat too long, before Lys gently twisted free, lips curling into a mirthless smile.

Before the tension could snap, Valein burst through the stairwell, her paint-stained hoodie pulled over tangled hair, cheeks flush with hope and nerves. She clutched a battered notebook to her chest, eyes wide and hungry when they landed on Lys. “I saw you talking to Rivel.” Her voice cracked and she ducked her head, a strand of blue chalk dust smeared across her jaw. “Are you leaving?”

For a fraction of a second, Lys’s mask slipped. Guilt surfaced, raw and quick, before she matched Valein’s gaze with careful, impersonal kindness. “Everyone leaves, Valein. Don’t you know that by now?” Valein flinched, shoulders hunching even tighter under her hoodie. The silence between them was sharp enough to sting.

Axton lingered just beyond the pool of light, all immaculate charcoal suit and deliberate indifference, his expression unreadable. He studied Lys and Valein with a predatory calm, fingers tapping his arm like a countdown. When Valein passed him, trailing the tang of citrus-and-spray paint, he snapped: “You’re wasting your time on her.”

Valein turned, stung, her eyes brimming. “At least I’ve still got hope.” Axton’s mouth curled, bitterness softening as he took her in—messy, beautiful in her heartbreak. “Hope? That’s a luxury around here.” He reached out, halting just before touching her cheek. For a moment, they breathed the same air, tension trembling, his thumb nearly grazing her skin. Valein blinked rapidly, lips parted, and for a moment the whole warehouse shrank to nothing but longing and ruin between them.

But Lys was gone by then, slipping into the darkened corridor, breathless and panicked. Rivel was waiting, leaning against the cracked window with that smug, predatory tilt to his hips, a silver ring glittering on his knuckle. “Well?” he purred. “Ready to pick your side?” Lys glared at him, every muscle in her body wound tight. “Don’t pretend you care.” Still, her hand hovered over the envelope he offered, promise and threat, freedom knotted with betrayal.

Zuriel stormed in, fists clenched, eyes wild with hurt and accusation. “You’re betraying us?” His voice cracked open, wounded and raw, the mask of the dockmaster falling away to reveal something terrified, almost boyish. Lys shut her eyes, fighting tears. “I’m just doing what I have to,” she whispered, voice trembling but steady.

Rivel’s laughter cut through them. “Tick-tock, darling,” he taunted, pushing the ultimatum into her palm before slipping away into the gloom. Lys stared at the envelope, shame and hope warring behind her eyes as Zuriel watched, broken. The air crackled with what might come next—choice or disaster—neither of them moving as the clock above the office door began to chime midnight.

To be continued...