Selix stands behind the linen partition, her silver slip clinging damp and transparent to her skin, rainwater beading on her collarbone. Her dark hair is loose, wild, framing a face as carefully guarded as any fortress. She watches Calder, who leans against the tiled wall, half dressed and jaw clenched, his tan shirt soaking through and outlining the angular map of his body. His eyes fix on her—hungry but softening, betraying gentleness beneath the tension. She hates how he sees her; she aches for it, too.

She shrugs off the slip, letting it slide to the shower floor with a whisper, refusing to look away. Her heartbeat pounds—louder than the water rushing overhead. She expects him to move first, to claim her, but Calder simply holds her gaze. His voice is a low rasp: “You’re shivering.” She laughs, brittle, a mask over all the fractures. “Don’t flatter yourself—it’s just the rain.” Her words come out sharper than she intends, sharp enough to slice. Calder’s lips twitch, almost a smile.

They close the inches between them with no warning—his hands rough at her waist, hers urgent in his damp hair. Selix surrenders, feeling the ache in every deliberate stroke of his mouth, the insistent press of fingers sliding down her back. Their bodies move together, feverish—every kiss equal parts pleading and punishment. She digs her nails into his shoulders, making him gasp, daring him to lose control. He answers with a bruising kiss, hips trapping her against cold tile: dominance and surrender, a slow-burning war. For a moment, Selix lets herself forget. Her laugh catches on a whimper and the heat in Calder’s eyes almost undoes her.

He pulls back, breathing hard, eyes scanning her face. “You don’t always have to fight me.” She bites her lip, shoulders curling in, vulnerability a shiver down her spine. “I do. I have to.” For the first time, Calder cradles her cheek, thumb painting warmth beneath her lashes. She lets him see the tears she hasn’t let fall in years, lets his mouth find her throat in a kiss so gentle it undoes her. Her nails release his skin. She is trembling, and he anchors her, holding every piece together. As the water slicks them, Selix gives herself over—not just her body, but everything she’s never trusted anyone to hold.

Later, wrapped in his shirt, Selix leans against the window. Her face is stripped of calculation; exhaustion and longing thread through each glance she gives Calder, who lingers by the vanity, towel around his hips, chest peppered with her nail marks. “You think Brax will stay away?” she asks, staring at the storm-lit sand beyond the glass. Calder’s jaw flexes. “He never does.” For a fragile instant, Selix’s armor falls away. “What did you do, Calder?” Her voice is soft, nearly broken. Calder looks at his hands—knuckles pale, veins bulging. “Nothing I want you to forgive.” She studies him, heart splintering with hope and dread.

Down at the guest tents, Ryven sits on the steps, arms folded, water tracking down his neck. Izelle approaches—hair tied up, track pants hugging her body, eyes rimmed with worry and irritation. She sinks down beside him, purposefully close, her perfume mixing with the petrichor. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are you just going to keep brooding?” He bristles, gaze fixed on the sand pooling with rain. “Maybe some things are better left buried.” Izelle narrows her eyes, searching his profile. She reaches out, brushes a wet strand of hair behind his ear—more tenderness than she’s shown anyone at Solara Veil. “You keep everyone locked out.”

He flinches beneath her touch, wanting to lean in, terrified of what it would mean. “Not everyone,” he manages. Izelle studies him, voice soft. “You could let me in. Or you could keep pushing me away. Up to you, Ryven.” Silence buzzes between them, heavy but electric. She gives him a crooked half-smile, stands, and walks off, rain plastering her shirt to her back. Ryven sits motionless, heart thudding against walls he built himself.

Inside the spa tent, Talya tidies yoga mats. She glances up as Izelle slips inside, cheeks flushed, hair a damp halo. Talya’s gaze lingers a heartbeat too long. “Rough night?” she asks, a teasing edge to her tone. Izelle smirks, dropping onto a mat beside her. “Everyone here’s either hiding or running—from something, or from themselves.” Her voice is tired, edges worn down by longing. Talya’s hand finds Izelle’s, cool and sure. “You don’t have to run. Not with me.” Izelle squeezes back, eyes closing—a moment of quiet connection, a seed of something dangerously close to real comfort.

Back at the staff lodge, Calder unlocks his phone. The screen glows with a single message, the words stark against the darkness: He’s here. All color drains from Calder’s face. The phone shakes in his hands. Outside, the storm slackens; inside, his world splits wide open.

To be continued...