Solenne’s hair, dark and damp from the misty air, curls in wild, uneven waves as she fiddles with the zipper of her battered jacket. She hunches on the edge of a faded depot bench, knees pressed together, thighs trembling as she traces a poem onto the back of an expired ticket with shaking fingers. Each line etches a private longing, the ache burrowing beneath her ribs. When she glances up, Varik stands across the depot floor, broad shoulders squared, jaw tight, eyes blazing beneath the dim glow. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, possession and hunger written openly in the sharpness of his gaze, following every movement she makes.

A flash of mischief splits through the gloom—Breslan saunters over, all easy swagger and lazy, confident smile that curves the corners of his mouth. His uniform is rumpled, shirt sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms, the buttons at his collar left undone and just suggestive. He drops beside Solenne, thigh pressed deliberately to hers, the heat of his body burning through several layers of clothing.

“Busy night?” Breslan murmurs, voice smooth as velvet soaked in bourbon. His hand brushes a lock of hair from her cheek; she startles ever so slightly, meeting his eyes—a pulse of real, unpredictable feeling between them. In that brief moment, Solenne senses Varik’s jealousy like a current crackling in the air, sharper than the metal edges of the nearest bus.

She gives Breslan a nervous, fleeting smile, her lips bitten raw from anxious habit. “Not as busy as yours, apparently.” Her voice is almost a whisper. Breslan grins, watching her mouth, lingering there a second too long. The chemistry grows thick, the kind that can’t be faked—and isn’t.

Jyndra perches across the aisle, legs crossed, clipboard balanced on her lap. Her gaze is razor-sharp as she observes, predatory, entirely aware. When Breslan leans in closer, laughing low at something Solenne says, Jyndra smirks and scribbles a note, marking the moment. Later, she corners Solenne in the break room, tongue curling around her words. “Deeper into the game, are we?” Jyndra’s voice is teasing, eyes unreadable. “Don’t forget your end of the bargain.”

Heat crawls up Solenne’s neck. She looks away, nails digging crescents into her palm. “I haven’t,” Solenne says, her voice crackling with nerves and shame. Jyndra studies her, lips pursed, searching for weakness. “Remember, you need him to see you—otherwise, what’s the point?” Jyndra’s fingers brush Solenne’s wrist, a fleeting electric touch that leaves Solenne trying not to flinch.

After the shift, Breslan waits for her at the depot bench. The station is almost empty. Just the two of them and a hush broken only by the distant whistle of brakes and Varik’s silhouette, frozen in the corner, fists stuffed into his jacket pockets, eyes fixed on them. Breslan’s good looks are softened by the uncertainty in his posture; for once, he seems almost shy.

Solenne glances at Varik, pain and challenge mingling in her gaze, then turns to Breslan. “You don’t have to pretend,” she murmurs, but he shakes his head, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I don’t want to.” He cups the side of her face, thumb brushing her jaw, breath warm and close. Her lashes flutter. When his mouth meets hers, it starts tentative—lips soft, uncertain, trembling with the possibility of more. Then urgency burns through: her hands tangle in his shirt, his fingers splay at her waist, anchoring her.

The kiss deepens, messy and heady, dissolving the pretense, blurring real and fake into dizzying need. She makes a soft, startled sound; Breslan answers, tilting her chin, pressing her harder to him as if he might be the only safe thing left. Hearts hammering, every muscle taut, they forget to breathe—the world drops away until the sharp slap of a dropped clipboard yanks them apart.

Varik stands a few paces away, eyes wild, heartbreak and fury warring across his face. His breath rips ragged through his teeth as he stares at them, the pain so raw it’s a living thing between them all. Solenne’s lips are swollen, Breslan’s hand still cradling her hip, the truth undeniable in the air.

“What the hell is this?” Varik’s voice is shattered glass, brittle and desperate.

Solenne can’t speak. Her heart beats so loud she can barely hear anything else.

To be continued...