Soraya stood at the center of her penthouse like a queen with a crown of thorns. Her apartment, usually a cold expanse of glass and sharp angles, felt unbearably hollow tonight. The city outside glittered like a sea of dying stars, and still, Jace hadn't returned.
She hadn't told him to leave. Not exactly.
But she hadn't told him to stay, either.
She hated that her chest ached. Hated it more that she missed the sound of his footsteps—those hesitant, soft steps like he was afraid of taking up space.
She paced. Poured herself a drink. Threw it against the wall and watched the glass shatter like the lie she told herself daily: I don't need anyone.
A knock broke the silence.
She froze.
Hope.
No. Not hope. She didn't hope. Not for him.
She flung the door open and was met with Nico.
His grin was a serpent's curve. "Still no sign of the puppy?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here?"
"To offer my services, of course." Nico stepped inside like he belonged. "Jace has been staying with his family. Quiet place. Countryside. I followed him." His eyes gleamed. "He's unraveling."
Soraya's nails bit into her palm. "And you let him?"
Nico chuckled darkly. "You let him first."
She hated that he had a point.
Meanwhile, in the dusty edges of the town where no one knew his name, Jace sat on his mother's porch, knees drawn up like a child again. The breeze smelled like drying grass and burnt dreams.
His mother didn't ask questions. She never had. She simply brought him tea, rubbed his back, and hummed the same lullaby from when he was five and terrified of thunder.
He wasn't crying. Not really. But something inside him was slowly dying, and he didn't know if it would grow back.
He missed Soraya.
And that made him hate himself.
His phone buzzed. Nico.
Nico:She's looking for you now. I'd be careful if I were you.
Jace didn't reply.
Nico (again):I could protect you from her. I want to.
That made Jace pause. There was something dangerous in that want.
He put his phone away and stared out at the road. Soraya would come. She always came when he finally felt like he could breathe without her.
Back in the city, Soraya was losing her mind.
She didn't chase people. She didn't have to.
But Jace wasn't people. He was something else—something quiet and infuriating that clung to the edges of her consciousness.
She saw him in every damn corner.
She was halfway through destroying her studio—paintings slashed, canvases torn—when her assistant cleared her throat from the door.
"There's an urgent commission request. High-profile. They want you in person."
Soraya snarled. "Tell them to rot."
The assistant hesitated. "They said the name Jace would mean something to you."
Silence fell like a guillotine.
She drove for hours, her sports car cutting through the countryside like a blade.
When she pulled up to the little farmhouse, the place looked painfully normal. Apple trees. A creaky swing. A dog.
And Jace—leaning against the porch, arms crossed, eyes tired and too knowing.
"I didn't give you my address," he said.
"You didn't have to."
She stepped closer. He didn't move.
"I needed space," he said.
Soraya tilted her head. "You don't get space. You're mine."
Jace flinched. "I'm not a toy."
She leaned in, close enough to taste the defiance on his lips. "You're mine until I say you're not."
He pushed past her. Walked to the edge of the yard. "Then say it."
Silence.
She couldn't.
He looked at her over his shoulder. "I've been waiting for you to treat me like something human. I'm done waiting."
"You think Nico will?" she snapped.
His face twisted. "Nico doesn't scare me."
"He should."
He paused. "You should."
Soraya swallowed that like poison. "You still came running when I snapped my fingers."
"No," he said. "I came to say goodbye."
That word—goodbye—wasn't supposed to happen to her. People didn't leave her. Not after tasting her. Not after becoming addicted.
"You'll crawl back."
His expression broke her.
"Maybe," he said. "But not as yours."
Three days later, the city welcomed Jace back like a ghost who had no grave. He didn't go to Soraya. Not right away.
He went to Nico.
Nico opened his door, eyebrows raised. "Oh?"
"I'm not yours either," Jace said.
Nico stepped aside with a grin. "That's the best part."
Inside Nico's high-rise apartment, the air was thick with tension. Jace didn't trust him. But he was curious. And curiosity was the first step to destruction.
Nico poured them drinks. "So. What now?"
"I don't know."
"That's the fun of it."
They didn't touch. Not yet. But Jace saw the hunger in Nico's gaze, and it made him shiver.
Elsewhere, Soraya was spiraling.
She couldn't paint. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop seeing his face.
She visited clubs. Slept with someone else. It didn't help.
He'd changed something in her—ripped open the hollow place and exposed something raw.
She wasn't used to losing. She didn't know how to mourn the living.
So she went darker.