Then Gavin smiled. That sharp, cruel smile I'd seen directed at sources who wouldn't cooperate, at editors who questioned his angles, at me when I'd dared to push back on anything.
"Fine," he said, backing toward his car. "Fine. But this isn't over, Cinder. You can hide behind hockey players all you want, but eventually you're going to have to face reality."
"Reality is that you're leaving," Taranis said. "Now."
Gavin's jaw worked, but he didn't argue. He climbed into his sedan, slammed the door hard enough that I flinched, and peeled out of the lot with more aggression than the situation warranted.
The silence he left behind felt suffocating.
I stood there, keys still clutched in my hand, watching his taillights disappear around the corner. My whole body was shaking, adrenaline crash, probably, or maybe just the accumulated weight of too many terrible days piling on top of each other.
"You okay?" Taranis's voice was gentle now, all that contained intensity softening into something that made my eyes sting.
"No," I admitted. "But I will be."
He moved closer, slow and careful, like I was something fragile he didn't want to startle. "He shouldn't have come here. The parking lot's restricted."
"He shouldn't have done a lot of things." I laughed, the sound watery, not surprised Gavin got through with whatever BS he spouted. "But Gavin's never been great at understanding boundaries."
Taranis stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could feel the cold radiating off him despite the afternoon sun. His temperature was dropping again. I could see it in the faint fog of his breath, the way his skin had gone pale at the edges.
"You're cold," I said automatically.
"I'm fine."
"That's not—" I stopped myself, remembering Nancy's words.If he's been managing this for years, maybe trust that he knows his own body."Okay."
Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or relief. "Okay?"
"Okay," I repeated. "I'm trying something new. It's called not arguing with people about their own health when they've clearly survived this long without my intervention."
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "That sounds difficult for you."
"It's excruciating." I finally unclenched my hand from around my keys, feeling the indentations they'd left in my palm. "But thank you. For... that. You didn't have to."
"Yes, I did."
The certainty in his voice made something ease open in my chest—something I'd been trying very hard to keep sealed shut.
"Taranis…Taz—"
"You don't have to say anything," he interrupted gently. "I know you said you couldn't get involved with someone from work. I respect that. I'm not asking for anything."
"Then why?" The question came out smaller than I intended. "Why do you keep showing up? Why do you keep—"Protecting me. Seeing me. Making me want things I swore I'd never want again.
He was quiet for a long moment, his breath misting in the air between us despite the warmth of the day. When he spoke, his voice was low. Honest in a way that made my chest ache.
"Because you matter to me," he said simply. "Whether or not you ever let me close enough to matter back."
I stared at him—this impossible man with his impossible temperature and his steady eyes and his quiet, devastating kindness—and felt something shift inside me. Something that had been frozen for five months starting to thaw.
"I'm terrified," I whispered.
"I know." He didn't move closer, didn't push. Just stood there, patient and certain, like he had all the time in the world. "So am I."
The admission startled me. "Of what?"
His jaw tightened, and for a moment I saw something flicker behind his eyes—old pain, old fear, something he kept locked away the same way I kept my own wounds hidden.