Breslan lounged on the battered break room sofa, boots up, shirt sleeves sloppy-rolled to his elbows, the line of his jaw shadowed and sharp in the flicker of the vending machine light. He watched Jyndra pace—slick ponytail swaying, black jeans hugging her hips, smudged eyeliner giving her eyes a dangerous tilt. She scanned her phone, thumb flickering, lips parted as if already preparing a sarcastic retort. But he saw the way her shoulder tensed whenever his gaze landed, how her bravado always fought to outrun a flicker of real worry.

“So what, you think I can’t handle the truth?” Jyndra snapped, unconvincing, her voice pitched high as she locked her phone and tossed it onto the table.

Breslan’s smirk was slow, almost soft. “No one handles anything around here. Least of all me.” He ran a hand through his hair, pausing to study her—noticing the way her bravado shook, the vulnerability pulsing beneath. “You ever just wanna say something out loud, make it less real?”

She should have laughed it off, but her face softened, lashes lowering over her stare. “Depends who’s listening.”

Breslan hesitated, the air suddenly thicker. He looked away, throat bobbing, wrestling with words. “My mom’s in deep, Jyn. I’m covering debts that won’t ever shrink. Sometimes I feel like no matter what I do…I’ll never be worth enough.” He said it quiet, as if confessing to the dark.

Jyndra stared, her posture faltering, arms crossing tight at her chest. She lingered in the doorway—then stepped forward, boots clicking. “You cover for everybody. Play the unbreakable guy. Maybe you should let someone return the favor for once.” Her voice was low, intent. She sat beside him, knees touching, the complicated heat between them alive.

He brushed her hair off her shoulder, fingertips trailing warm against her neck. She shivered, lips parting, breath catching with a sound that was half laugh, half gasp. Their eyes locked—hers daring, his uncertain. Then she climbed onto his lap, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. Breslan’s hands slid along her thighs, grounding her, and Jyndra cupped his jaw, kissing him hard, mouths clashing in need and relief.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her closer as her hips rocked against his, urgency spilling into laughter and cursing and moans muffled against his skin. Her laugh turned breathless, desperate, as she buried her face at his neck, her nails biting his shoulders—every piece of armor falling away in the wild press of their bodies.

The battered sofa creaked beneath them. For once, Jyndra let herself be held—her guard dissolving as Breslan whispered her name against her ear, all bravado melting into something almost tender. In the reflection of the vending machine, they caught a flash of movement—a figure half-glimpsed through the grimy glass.

Varik froze in the doorway, his stare cutting through the haze, jaw clenched, eyes wide with something hot and feral. Jyndra stiffened, breath hitching, as Breslan’s grip hesitated on her hips. For a tense heartbeat time held, none of them breathing, the weight of secrets and jealousy thickening the air.

Then, without a word, Varik spun on his heel, slamming the door in his wake. Jyndra scrambled off Breslan’s lap, cheeks flushed, hands shaking as she fumbled with her hair. Breslan watched the closed door, chest heaving, knowing what had just shattered—between all of them.

Elsewhere, Solenne hunched alone in the staff corridor. Her hair was tangled, her uniform jacket two days past clean, and her fingers were stained with blue ink from the poem she scrawled in secret. Words she would never show, sorrow she couldn’t voice. That poem slipped from her fingers, left behind on a cracked bench—unknown, unread—until Varik’s shadow swallowed her absence.

He picked up the crumpled map, eyes moving over every ache and syllable. In the quiet, his jaw tightened, realizing for the first time how lost Solenne really was—how far from him she’d drifted. The sense of betrayal deepened, setting off fault lines—old wounds breaking wide open.

While Jyndra, still breathless and shaken, stared at her reflection in the window, tracing her lips where Breslan had kissed her, wondering if she’d finally let herself feel too much—or ruined everything.

Suddenly, Jyndra’s phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: I know what you did. If you want your secrets safe, meet me on the rooftop. Midnight. Come alone.

To be continued…