Still, he waits.
He doesn’t charge forward, doesn’t shout my name or demand answers. He just stands there, still as stone, watching me from within the dark like he’s daring me to make the next move.
I’d like to believe I’ve hidden myself well enough—that all he sees is the intriguing fighter he’s been chasing, the underground legend known only as Cupcake. I want to believe he’s still connecting the dots, still searching.
But my gut twists.
Ronan’s never been easy to fool. He’s too smart. Too damn intuitive for his own good. And he’s always seen through people—throughme—even when I wasn’t ready to be looked at that closely.
He doesn’t justsenseme.
Heknows.
And in that moment, under the dim industrial light, across a stretch of cool concrete and tension so thick it nearly vibrates, I accept it.
He sees me.
All of me.
Even the pieces I thought I burned in the fire.
I should’ve known I couldn’t hide from him.
Out of all of them, I always knew—he’d be the hardest to escape.
As much as I want to run to him—throw myself into his arms and pretend the world outside doesn’t exist—I know better. That kind of safety? That kind of forever? It’s just a dream. A sweet, aching lie I let myself taste for half a second before the truth slams back into place.
Ronan always tried to protect me. With fists and fury. With that quiet, unwavering way he looked at me like I mattered—like I was worth saving, even when I couldn’t see it myself. But intentions don’t always change outcomes. Sometimes, no matter how hard you fight, the world burns anyway. And we burned right along with it.
None of what happened was his fault. Or mine. Sometimes the cards are dealt, and there’s no reshuffling the hand. You play what you’re given—win or lose. And back then? We lost. Badly.
But maybe—just maybe—there’s still something waiting for us on the river. A shot at redemption buried in the ash.
I turn my attention back to the task in front of me. My hands are steady, my mind locking back into focus. He found me. I don’t know how, but he put the pieces together. Who I am. Where I’d be.
And he’s not moving to stop me.
He just watches—quiet and controlled—letting me do exactly what I came here to do.
Which tells me something. On some level, he understands. Maybe he even agrees.
That works for me.
If he wants to see what I’ve become, then he can stand there and watch.
Thirty minutes.
That’s how long it takes to finish wiring the building. Every connection is deliberate; every line placed with care. I move through the darkness on instinct alone, muscle memory guiding me—steady, focused, precise.
And through all of it, Ronan never moves.
Not a single step. Not a word. He remains tucked into the shadows like he’s part of them, watching me with that unblinkingintensity I remember all too well. I feel his gaze following every move I make, a steady pressure against my skin—not threatening, just heavy. Laden with questions he doesn’t voice.
But he never comes any closer.
Maybe he’s giving me space. Or maybe he’s waiting—biding his time until the moment feels right to strike. To drag those unspoken questions out of the dark and force answers from me I’m not ready to give. Because now he knows I’m alive. Now the illusion of my death has cracked wide open. And he won’t stop. I know him too well for that. He’ll dig. He’ll pull apart every thread, chase every lead, tear the whole thing down until the truth is laid bare. And I don’t know if I’m ready for what that truth will cost either of us.
There’s still so much I don’t understand. Too many questions I’ve avoided because asking them feels more dangerous than staying silent.