Page 70 of Run of Ruin

But every time it started to spark, Jax’s face cut through the flames, bright and all the reason I needed to hold the line. I couldn’t risk everything, not for a dream I might never live to see.

I was just one girl, after all. And one girl could never change the world.

I kept to my typical morning routine, and made my way to the kitchen where I found Zaffir. He sat at the kitchen counter, his gaze fixed on something on the screen in front of him. His eyes narrowed as if whatever he was reading was clawing at his nerves. When I stepped up beside him, he flinched, just for a second, before his shoulders eased at the sight of me.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he greeted, and I liked the way the words sent a flutter to my chest.

“Good morning, Zaffir,” I answered. Finding a mug and pouring myself a cup of coffee.

“How did you sleep?” he asked. I smiled and turned over my shoulder to glance at him.

“Fine,” I said. “And you?”

He nodded. “Was up pretty late preparing for this evening.”

His eyes darted down to the screen in front of him, his brows furrowed and his hands fidgeting.

“What’s on your mind this morning?” I asked, taking my cup and leaning on the counter opposite of him.

“Oh, nothing,” he replied, entirely unconvincingly. I gave him a pointed stare until he sighed. But it was shaky and disjointed. Not at all the cool collected Zaffir I’d grown accustomed to seeing.

“I’m just…nervous. About your trial. The interview,” he said, not meeting my gaze.

I nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

There was panic in his gaze, I felt it from across the room, painful and thick. His breath was shallow, chest rising too fast, too hard. His fingers twitched like he was fighting his own body, like he didn’t know where to put his hands.

My feet were moving before I realized it. I crossed the space in a blink, stepping up beside him and pulling his head to my chest. He came apart in my arms, every rigid muscle trembling before melting into me. I held him tighter, grounding him, anchoring him. His arms circled my waist with a desperation that stole the breath from my lungs. It cracked something wide open in my chest.

I didn’t say anything. Just held him. Quiet and steady, as his breathing slowed, as the storm inside him dulled to a quiet hum. His grip loosened. His jaw unclenched. The panic passed. We just breathed together.

After a long moment, he pulled back, just far enough to look up at me. There was a pause, charged and heavy. A breath where everything could tilt, shift, break wide open. His gaze flicked down to my lips, then back up to meet my eyes.

We hadn’t kissed since that morning with Ezra, both of us caught in that rush of lust and adrenaline. We’d never touched like that without that heady desire buzzing through us. I toldmyself that’s all it was. Lust. Blind passion. It couldn’t be anything else. He’s Praxis. I can’t feel this way about him.

And yet.

He looked at me like he was asking. Not demanding, not expecting, just asking. And I couldn’t think of a single reason to say no.

So I didn’t.

He kissed me. Soft. Careful. Nothing like the man who’d once ordered me to touch myself for his viewing pleasure. This kiss was real. Raw. Sweet and terrifying and perfect.

His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened for him, let him in. My hands tangled in his wild red hair. He gripped my waist, pulling me closer. Always closer. Still not close enough.

When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine. Our breath mingled, warm and slow.

“I’m feeling much better now,” Zaffir murmured, a smile in his voice.

I laughed, soft and breathless, smacking his shoulder playfully before slipping out of his hold and stepping back behind the counter, before I could change my mind and stay right there, forever.

“I mean it,” he said, smiling brightly at me. “Thank you.”

I nodded. And a quiet moment passed between us. There were feelings and emotions swirling within me. None of which I was prepared to address so I changed the subject.

“Got any advice for me today?” I asked, keeping my voice light, teasing.

He met my eyes, and there was a quick flash of fear. Not for himself, for me.

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