Page 63 of Celestial Combat

He looked like he belonged in the dark. Like it had made and shaped him into who he was now.

For a long time, neither of us spoke.

I watched the river, the way the streetlights reflected off it in shifting patterns, the way the world below us never truly stopped moving. Zane watched the smoke curl from his cigarette, slow and deliberate.

Without realizing, I’d done the same, switching my focus from the view to him.

He caught me looking – though I suspected he’d already felt it. Then, he held it out to me.

This time, I didn’t hesitate.

I didn’t smoke – not really – but this wouldn’t be my first cigarette.

Pressing it to my lips, I inhaled deep. The taste was sharp, the nicotine burning slightly in my throat.

I let the smoke drift out between my lips, passing the cigarette back.

Zane took it, and we sat there together – sharing the silence and the smoke.

“You fought well tonight.”

“That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But I caught the way the corner of his lips lifted slightly.

I let out a soft laugh. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

The city stretched around us, vast and endless, but somehow, up here, on this old fire escape, the world felt small. Just the two of us, suspended in time, in something neither of us had the nerve to name.

Zane took another slow drag, still watching me before finally breaking the silence again. “I mean it though. You fought well. No hesitation.”

His voice was different this time – softer, almost thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t start getting sentimental on me now, Zane.”

He exhaled, his gaze slipping to mine, something unreadable in the shadows of his expression.

“Too late.”

The world faded.

The city below, the distant sirens, the hum of traffic on 1st Avenue – it all melted into nothing, drowned out by the silence stretching between us. The space was too charged, too thick with the unspoken yet undeniable chemistry between us. I could feel it like a current before a storm, pulling me to him.

Zane was close. Closer than he should have been. The heat of him wrapped around me, and I was suddenly aware of every breath, every shift in the air between us.

My eyes dipped to his lips.

It was brief, instinctual. But when I looked back up, his gaze was already there, locked onto my mouth, dark and unreadable. His breathing had slowed, and I could feel it – the way his chest rose and fell, steady and controlled, like he was holding himself back.

Something in my stomach twisted.

I hadn’t noticed before, but his hand was on the step above me, bracing against the rusted metal. Not touching me, not quite – but close enough that it might as well have been. Caging me in without actually doing it. My pulse hammered in my ears.

Zane leaned in, just barely. Not enough to touch, but enough that the heat of him pressed against me like an unspoken promise.

I should hate him.

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