Calder stormed into the tent, jaw tight, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows, tan skin dusted with sweat and sand. Selix barely glanced up from her phone—her posture ramrod straight in a tailored white dress—until she heard the snap of the tent flap. Without looking, she spoke, voice calm but edged, “Don’t pretend you’re in control anymore, Calder.” He stood there, fist clenching, his confidence brittle. For a moment, the only sound was his uneven breath and the electric silence between them.

She finally looked up, sharp gaze pinning him. “He knows. Brax knows everything.” Her mascara was flawless, lips painted crimson, but there was a crack in her veneer—a trembling at the edge of her mouth. Calder stepped closer, anger warring with fear in his eyes. “You dragged me into this mess. If you think I won’t burn for you, you’re wrong.” She flinched, just barely. He reached for her, his touch rough, fingers wrapping around her wrist, and for a beat she let him—then turned, twisting free, hiding the echo of longing in her expression.

Meanwhile, Ryven drifted outside the tent, the desert wind tugging at his linen shirt, eyes downcast. He moved like a shadow, shoulders hunched against the world. The ache in his chest pressed tighter as he approached Izelle’s tent—he’d replayed their last words a hundred times, the sharpness in her voice, the crack in his own.

Inside, Izelle sat cross-legged on the bed, hair still damp from a late shower, a racer’s tank top hugging her lean torso. She traced her fingers along the pattern in the comforter, knuckles tense. When Ryven appeared in the entrance, her breath caught, stubbornness flickering in the set of her jaw. “You keep running away,” she warned, voice low, both an accusation and a plea.

He waited, hands shoved deep in his pockets, gaze locked on hers. “I’m tired of hiding from you.” A long silence, heavy with everything unsaid. She walked to him, close enough for her breath to ghost his cheek, her hand hesitant on his ribs. He trembled—not with fear, but from the force of wanting this, finally letting himself need her.

His arms closed around her, tentative but growing surer, and she melted against him. The night blurred—heated mouths searching, skin pressed to skin, the rest of the world dissolving into sensation. He kissed her jaw, her neck; she laughed, breathless and raw, straddling his lap, pinning his wrists above his head against the tent wall. “No leaving this time,” she whispered against his mouth, and for once, he didn’t flinch.

Clothes were peeled away, hands mapping scars, slow and reverent—then desperate. They fit awkwardly at first, bodies learning trust the way their hearts never had, until his composure broke and hers softened, surrendering. Their climax was shattering and tender, a tangle of limbs and tears and laughter, more vulnerable than either had dared to hope.

After, she curled beside him, her head on his bare chest, fingers tracing absent circles. Ryven looked down at her, his palm skimming her hip, and whispered, “I want to choose you. Not out of guilt, but because it’s real.” She smiled, and for a moment, both were unguarded—no secrets, no fears, just the hush of breath and pulse in the darkness.

Elsewhere, Selix paced, phone clutched so tightly her knuckles shone white. Calder watched her from the threshold, shirt unbuttoned, eyes stormy. “I need you to trust me,” he said, voice breaking. She spun, cheeks flushed, lower lip trembling. “Everyone I trust ruins me, Calder.” This time, when he reached for her, she let herself fall into his arms, pressing her face into his chest as tears smudged the edge of her mascara, clinging to him as if defying the world outside.

Joryn, all tousled hair and faded kitchen whites, found Talya sitting on a stone outcropping by the retreat’s edge, knees drawn to her chest, gaze distant. He sat beside her, bumping her shoulder with his. “Want to talk about it?” he offered gently. She shook her head, hiding a sniffle. He put an arm around her, just holding her, patient—no jokes, no flirting, just a warm, silent solidarity that had her leaning into him, sighing out weeks of pent-up sadness.

Later, when the desert had quieted, Selix’s phone vibrated—a message from an unknown number. She unlocked it with shaking hands. The text read: “You know what I want. If you don’t deliver, I’ll bury you—and everyone you care about. She’s at the root of it all. Ryven Halden’s mother.”

Selix went ice-pale, eyes darting to the tent flap. Calder, still buttoning his shirt, saw her face and knew something new and dangerous had begun. Secrets that could ruin them all had just clawed their way into the open.

To be continued...