Chapter 32

The building loomed ahead, skeletal and quiet, cloaked in ivy and shadow. It looked forgotten—but not empty.

“This used to be an apartment complex,” I said, stepping over the threshold. “Condemned when I was a kid. My mom used to point it out from the train and tell me never to go near it.” Kael didn’t question me. He just followed, his sword angled low, eyes scanning the corners like something might lunge from the shadows. Inside, the air was thick with dust and decay. Paint peeled in long curls from the ceiling. Water damage blackened the corners of the walls. Somewhere in the distance, a pipe groaned like the building was still trying to breathe. We made our way up the staircase, Kael moving ahead to clear the path. On the second floor, most doors hung broken from rusted hinges. I led him to the one at the end of the hall. The room was more intact than I remembered. Still small, still crumbling, but solid. The window was cracked but unbroken. The wallpaper—once some cheerful pastel—had long since faded to a sad, mottled beige.

I stepped inside, heart thrumming. “It’s not much,” I murmured, “but it’s safe.”

Kael moved through the space like a soldier sweeping a battlefield. It wasn’t paranoia. It was a habit. He checked the corners, the windows, and the ceiling.

I slid to the floor near the wall, pulling my knees to my chest as my breath finally slowed. Kael crouched beside me after a moment, settling with the kind of caution I knew came from pain he didn’t want me to see. His eyes drifted to the new curl of silver along my ribs.

“You’re hurt,” I said before he could ask about me.

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered. But how he held himself—tight and careful—told a different story. I reached for him anyway. He didn’t stop me when I brushed my fingers against the edge of the bandage beneath his shirt. His skin was warm, feverish. The wound hadn’t closed. I pressed gently. He didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened.

“You’re terrible at accepting help.”

“You’re relentless,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “It’s a dangerous combination.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He didn’t argue. I cleaned the wound as best I could, my fingers gentle, though my chest ached with every shaky breath he took. The tether between us pulsed softly, like it wanted to help but didn’t know how. Like it was waiting too. When I finished, I sat back, watching him lean against the wall. His face had softened. The tension hadn’t vanished, but it had dulled around the edges. Outside, the wind shifted. Something rattled in the hallway. Kael didn’t even blink.

“You knew this place would still be standing,” he said.

“I hoped it would.”

He turned to look at me. Really look. And something shifted between us. The silence was different now—not charged, not brittle. Just still. His eyes held mine like I was something worth watching, something steady in a world that kept changing shape.

“You saved me back there,” he said quietly. “Again.”

“You’re not so easy to save.”

“I’m not sure I was meant to be.” His hand brushed against mine, the lightest touch. “But then you happened.”

I should’ve looked away. I didn’t. I leaned in without thinking. Just enough to close the space. Our lips met—slow, uncertain, careful. His lips were warm, steady, and patient. There was no firestorm, no rush to devour—just a slow, aching kind of gravity. The kind you feel in your chest first. The kind that doesn’t ask. It waits. When we finally pulled apart, the world didn’t rush back in all at once. It lingered, quiet around us. Kael’s forehead stayed close to mine, his breath brushing my cheek, uneven and soft.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I whispered, afraid if I spoke louder, the moment would break.

His hand didn’t move from my waist. “So have I.”

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my fingers still curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt. Kissing him wasn’t safety. It wasn’t certainty. But it was something real, something fragile and rare that had managed to survive the wreckage around us.

“I don’t know what this means,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Kael looked at me then, eyes dark and steady. “Then we’ll find out. Together.”

I nodded slowly. Kael didn’t kiss me again. He didn’t need to. The space between us was already filled. We leaned back against the wall side by side, letting the silence settle gently over us. And for the first time in a long time.. The tether buzzed between us, low and warm. Not sharp. It was not binding; it was just there like it had always been.

Kael’s hand stayed at my waist. He didn’t pull me closer. But he didn’t let go either.

His grip loosened—not from rejection, but sleep. His breathing slowed. Deepened. The kind of sleep you don’t get on battlefields or ruined stairwells. The kind you only get when you let your guard fall. I listened to it, counted the seconds between breaths. My head rested lightly against his shoulder. The rhythm of his chest beneath my cheek was the only thing keeping my world from unraveling. He was asleep. And I didn’t want to move. In this crumbling space—where time had stalled and the world had narrowed to the shape of a ruined apartment—we had found a moment of stillness. I closed my eyes, just for a little while.