The silence between them wasn't the comfortable kind.
It was the type that clawed at the skin, dragging sharp nails down every breath. The moment the heavy doors to Lucas's estate closed behind them, the tension exploded in the stillness. Evelynn pulled her cloak tighter around herself, not because of the cold, but because her skin still burned with the memory of playing helpless before the Inner Circle.
Lucas led her up the stairs wordlessly. His steps were loud in the cavernous halls, echoing through the house like the drumbeat of a retreating army. Once they reached his study, he paused, hand hovering over the doorknob.
"Are we going to talk about it?" Evelynn asked, her voice low.
He opened the door without a word.
Inside, the fire was already lit—someone must have prepared the room, unaware that the house was now home to secrets heavy enough to crush it. Lucas didn't sit. He moved to the decanter at the far corner, poured himself a drink, then poured another and held it out to her.
She hesitated. "What's in it?"
He looked at her, finally. "Peace. For a few minutes."
She took it.
They sat on opposite ends of the sofa. Evelynn sipped slowly, watching the amber liquid swirl in her glass. It tasted like fire and old regrets.
Lucas was the first to speak. "You were brilliant today."
Her laugh was dry. "You mean convincing."
"I mean terrifying," he said. "I've seen trained spies who couldn't fake hate that well."
She didn't look at him. "Maybe I wasn't faking."
Lucas tilted his head. "Is that what you want to believe?"
"No," she said sharply. "But it's safer."
Silence again. But this time, something different hung in the air—something simmering and fragile. Not anger. Not grief. Something almost… tender.
"You didn't hesitate," she said, finally turning to face him. "Back in the Catacombs. You called me yours."
"It's what they needed to hear."
"But was it true?"
The question knocked the air from the room. Lucas stared at her, heart thundering louder than the storm brewing outside. Lightning cracked against the window, a warning that something was about to break.
"You want the truth?" he asked.
"Only if you're brave enough to say it."
He leaned forward, setting his glass down with a soft thud. "You were supposed to be my enemy. You still are, depending on who's watching. But somehow, along the way… you stopped being just a name on a list."
She held his gaze. "So what am I now?"
He didn't answer with words. He stood, walked to her side of the couch, and sat down beside her—close enough that their knees brushed, close enough to breathe the same air. His hand reached for hers slowly, and when she didn't pull away, he laced their fingers together.
"I don't know what this is," he whispered. "But I know it's real."
Evelynn's throat tightened. "You said it yourself. We're in a war. There's no room for this."
"I know."
"If anyone finds out…"
"They won't."
She looked down at their intertwined fingers. "I want to believe you."
"Then do."
His voice was so steady. So sure. But beneath it, she could feel the tremble of vulnerability. It mirrored her own.
"What if we're making a mistake?" she whispered.
"Then let it be the first one that feels right."
She turned to him slowly, and for a moment, they just looked at each other—no masks, no secrets, no titles. Just two people trying not to fall apart in a world designed to crush them.
When Lucas leaned in, she didn't stop him. But their lips hovered, barely brushing, a kiss suspended in tension. She pulled back a fraction, eyes burning into his.
"This changes everything," she breathed.
"Good."
Then he kissed her. Not hungrily, not violently—but with the restraint of someone who knew they shouldn't. His lips moved against hers like a promise—tender, aching, dangerous. Her hands found his shoulders, steadying herself, grounding herself. And then… she kissed him back.
It wasn't the kind of kiss that sealed a fairytale. It was the kind that unraveled you.
They pulled apart slowly, breathless. Neither spoke. Neither dared name what had just happened.
Evelynn stood first. "I need to think."
Lucas nodded. "Take your time."
As she walked toward the door, he called her name.
She turned.
"If this gets worse," he said, "If I ever ask you to walk away, promise me you will."
She didn't answer. She just looked at him with something halfway between heartbreak and hope.
And then she left.
—
Later that night…
Lucas sat at his desk, the half-empty glass untouched since Evelynn had left. He stared at the crackling fire, lost in thoughts too dangerous to speak aloud.
He hadn't lied to her. This thing between them—whatever it was—could destroy them both. But for once, he didn't care.
He heard the knock at his door and didn't need to ask who it was.
"Come in," he said.
Evelynn stepped inside, still in her cloak. But this time, her hood was down, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders.
"I couldn't sleep," she said.
"Me neither."
"I kept thinking…"
"So did I."
She walked to him, slow and measured. "I don't want to pretend anymore."
Lucas stood. "Then don't."
He took her hands again, softer this time.
"We'll keep this quiet," he said. "But not secret. Not from ourselves."
Evelynn nodded.
"What we have…" she murmured, "It's something like love."
He smiled sadly. "The dangerous kind."
"Is there another?"
They didn't need more words. Not tonight.
They just stood there, holding each other like a lifeline, knowing the world could tear them apart at any moment.
But for now, they had this.
Something like love.