Page 81 of Siren

My breath caught. He hadn’t seen me yet.

But I saweverything.

The way he scanned the room, taking it all in. The ease in his shoulders that only came when he was around people he trusted. The heat behind his eyes that still looked for mine even in a crowd.

Then our eyes locked and the room faded.

My heart thudded hard enough to echo in my chest. Ihanded Brielle the glass without a word and walked toward him.

Halfway there, I paused. He stepped forward.

And when we met in the middle of the room, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasquiet. It was real.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” I said softly.

“Didn’t think you’d want me here for real with the way I’ve been acting,” he replied. I loved his honesty. He always gave it.

“I always want you here,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I don’t know how to say it.”

His jaw flexed. “You shining so hard right now, I didn’t know if I belonged in the frame.”

I stepped closer. “You helped build the light.”

He stared at me for a long second. “That’s not what they’re saying.”

“I don’t give a fuck what they’re saying,” I said. “I know what I feel. I know what we did. And I know I don’t want to celebrate this if you’re not somewhere in it.”

His chest rose and fell. Then—slowly—he pulled me into a hug. Not the polite kind. Not for show. The kind where your whole body exhales. Where your heart stops clenching.

I wrapped my arms around him and let myself rest there.

We weren’t fixed. But we were finding each other again. And in this industry, that was a revolution.

TWENTY-EIGHT

The mic caught the low glide of my breath before the first note even left my lips.

I heard it in my headphones. Felt it in my chest. The hush before something holy.

Taraj stood behind the glass, one hand on the console, the other pressed to his lips like the sound of me settled somewheresacred. His eyes tracked every movement of my mouth, every vibration I let fall into the space between us.

We were building a song that didn’t belong to us. Not this time. This was for Amir and Amaya—for their love, their story, their spark. But still, as the melody swelled and my voice found the pocket he carved with those piano chords, it was us I felt.

Every harmony we’d never written. Every kiss that lingered too long. Every stretch of silence between us these past few weeks that still managed to pulse with feeling.

“Pull back on that bridge,” he said gently through the talkback. “Float on it like you’re still not sure if it’s a yes.”

I nodded once and stepped back to breathe. “You want hesitation?”

“I want surrender. But the kind that surprises even you.”

I smiled, slow and deep, because he knew exactly what that sounded like. Knew it because he’d pulled it out of me already, in more ways than music.

I closed my eyes and gave it again—just enough ache to make it real.

When I stepped out of the booth, the studio lights were low and warm, the kind that made everything feel personal. Taraj was already playing back the track, his head bobbing slightly to the beat, lips parted like he was tasting every note.

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