Page 56 of Third

“Yeah—identical twin. We were born minutes apart.”

His brow furrowed in a rare flash of visible confusion. “Abiological double? Is this a form of cloning on your world?”

She gave a startled laugh. “No! It’s not cloning. It just happens sometimes. Two babies in the same womb. Genetic siblings—same parents, born at the same time.” She tilted her head, watching him with quiet curiosity. “You’re a scientist. You must be familiar with twins.”

Tor’Vek considered that, his eyes narrowing slightly as though scanning internal data. “Twins are an anomaly. Twins do not exist among the Nine Galaxies.”

Anya stumbled. “Wait—what?”

“Natural duplication is rare and biologically unstable in most known species. It is not observed in Vettian evolution.”

She stared at him. “You’re telling me there’s no such thing as twins in your entire galaxy?”

“In the Nine Galaxies,” he corrected calmly. “It is either impossible or extremely rare. When it does occur, it is typically associated with mutation or failed replication.”

She shook her head, trying to process it. “But that means... Maya and I—we’re something you’ve never seen before.”

“Affirmative.” Apause. “You are a fascinating anomaly. Both ofyou.”

Something about the way he said it—not with suspicion, but reverence—made her throat tighten. She hadn’t expected that. Not from him. Not from a man who barely reacted to fear or pain or even touch, except when it came from her. But in that moment, when he called her an anomaly, it felt different. Like he saw something in her that made her more than a data point. More than a liability. Unique.

And it did something strange to her. It made her feel exposed. Not just physically, with his gaze skimming over her skin like a second heat source, but emotionally. Because he didn’t look away. Didn’t scan the horizon or change the subject or tell her it was irrelevant. He just looked at her like she mattered.

The craving throbbed between them, and her breath caught as her mind flashed—not to Maya this time—but to the way his fingers had lingered on her back, the way his shirt still smelled faintly of him where it clung to her skin. She shouldn’t notice. She shouldn’t care. But shedid.

She cleared her throat, but it came out shaky. “So you’ve never met anyone likeme.”

“Correct.”

“And no one like her, either.”

He paused. “That is what makes anomalies significant. Singular.” Then, almost smiling, he corrected himself. “Not singular since there are two ofyou.”

An anomaly, then—but doubled. As though the bond hadn’t already set her apart, now biology did, too.She stumbled a little and he caught her elbow, steadying her. That touch burned—hotter than it shouldhave.

“Yeah. Maya,” she said, her voice rough. “She’s… everything to me. Ihave to get back toher.”

Tor’Vek’s hand slid down her arm, catching her wrist and holding it lightly. She didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Every cell in her body begged for the contact. His gaze locked withhers.

“You will,” he said, and something inside her chest fractured at the quiet certainty in his voice.

They pressed on, keeping close, the craving building like a storm at their backs. At one point, when they had to scramble up a crumbling ledge, Tor’Vek lifted her easily, setting her down so gently it made her throatache.

At the top, she didn’t step back. She didn’t want to. He looked different up here—like the wind stripped him down to something raw. The ridges of his jaw were locked tight, his breathing no longer measured, but rougher. His fingers twitched against her waist like he wasn’t sure if he was reassuring her or himself.

The craving, the heat—it wasn’t just building anymore. It was pushing. Hard. Astorm rising in the space between them and inside him, and she could see it—how close he was to the edge. His eyes darted to the side like he was trying not to look at her, and failing. His control—always so flawless—shuddered like it was seconds from cracking.

He stood too close. His breath brushed her temple. His fingers remained at her waist. Their bracelets almost pulsed in time, alow, insistent beat that blurred into the frantic thud of her heart.

Anya looked up. Her chest squeezed. His breath had caught for just a second. Not much—but enough. His eyes flicked to her mouth and then away, jaw clenched, like he was swallowing something dangerous. Something fragile. Something that would break if he let itout.

Her heart skipped, caught between fear and something else—something reckless. He was right there, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin, the bond drumming so loud it silenced everything else. And he wasn’t moving away. He was fighting himself and losing. Every part of him vibrated with tension, like his body was trying to contain something it was never meant to hold. She saw it then—not rage, not logic, but the terrifying fragility of restraint. And beneath it, the wanting. Her. Onlyher.

Tor’Vek’s eyes burned—aglowing amethyst, intense,raw.

She rose onto her toes, not knowing if it was her decision or theirs. His hand slid up her spine, and their mouths met—hot, desperate, aching.

The kiss was a collision, aclash of need and restraint. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender. It was survival—afrantic attempt to staunch the craving, to bury themselves in something other than rage and hunger.

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