But I'd heard the shutters. Seen the flashes. Counted at least a dozen shots before anyone had moved to stop them.
The exact kind of attention I'd been trying to avoid.
The exact reason I'd walked away from Taranis.
And now it had happened anyway.
Chapter five
Power Play - A team has a man advantage due to an opponent’s penalty.
Taranis
I watched the last photographer retreat through the ballroom doors, my jaw still tight with barely contained anger. The urge to follow them—to make absolutely certain they understood what would happen if those photos appeared anywhere—burned hot under my ribs.
But Cinder needed...
I turned back toward where he'd been standing, already forming words I didn't quite have yet, something about being okay, about the cameras being gone now, about—
He was walking away.
Not running. Not panicking. Just moving with that same careful professionalism he'd always shown, shoulders squared, face blank, like saving someone's life was just another item checked off his list for the evening.
"Cinder," I called, taking a step after him.
He didn't stop. Didn't even slow down.
I caught up anyway, close enough that I could see the tremor in his hands he was trying to hide. "Hey. Are you—"
"I'm fine." The words came out clipped, automatic. He still wasn't looking at me.
"You just performed CPR for—"
"I know what I did." He finally stopped, turning just enough that I could see his profile. The muscle jumping in his jaw. The way his breathing was too controlled, too measured. "I'm fine, Taranis. Thank you for... for the cameras. But I need to go."
"Go where?"
"My room." He said it like it was obvious. Like retreating alone after something like that made any kind of sense.
"Let me walk with you," I said, keeping my voice gentle. "Or we could—"
"No." Sharp now. Final. He met my eyes for the first time since I'd chased the photographers out, and what I saw there made my chest ache. Not anger. Exhaustion. The bone-deep kind that came from holding yourself together when every instinct screamed to break. "I appreciate what you did. Really. But I need to be alone right now."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him that being alone was the last thing anyone needed after that kind of adrenaline crash. Wanted to say a dozen things I had no right to say because he'd made it perfectly clear at the club that whatever I'd hoped might exist between us was never going to happen.
So instead, I just nodded. "Okay."
Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or relief—and then he was moving again, disappearing into the crowd of staff and players who were still processing what had just happened.
I stood there like an idiot, watching him go, until Max appeared at my elbow.
"You good?" he asked.
"Yeah." The lie tasted wrong on my tongue. "I'm fine."
Max studied me for a long moment, his expression shifting from concern to something sharper. "Taz."
"What?"