"You talk in your sleep," Nico said, setting a steaming mug of coffee on the counter like it was a peace offering.
Jace blinked the haze from his eyes. His head ached. His shirt was missing. He was still in Nico's apartment, sprawled across a couch he didn't remember laying down on.
Nico leaned casually against the wall, his smirk sharp as ever. "Always her name."
Jace sat up slowly, the chill of the morning air biting his bare skin. He didn't remember drinking that much. He didn't remember much at all.
"What… did we do?"
Nico's gaze didn't flinch. "Nothing." A pause. "Unless you wanted something to have happened."
Jace's heart beat like a war drum. "I didn't."
Nico shrugged. "Shame."
The coffee sat untouched. Jace stood and grabbed his hoodie from the back of a nearby chair. He felt watched, evaluated, pulled apart with every glance Nico gave him.
"You can leave whenever you want," Nico said, "but don't pretend you're not running."
Jace froze with his hand on the door.
"I'm not running."
"From her. From yourself." Nico's voice turned soft, almost fond. "You're so breakable, it's beautiful."
Soraya was painting again.
Sort of.
The canvas was a mess—slashed reds, bruised purples, the kinds of colors that screamed instead of spoke. Her studio smelled of turpentine and desperation.
She hadn't seen Jace since the countryside.
She'd watched from her car as he stepped into Nico's place. That had nearly driven her to kill someone.
Nico was playing a game. And worse—Jace was letting him.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown Number:You let him rot. I'm giving him warmth.
She stared at it for a long time before smashing the phone against the floor.
Soraya never begged. Never pleaded.
But she was unraveling—and it showed.
Nico's apartment. Midnight.
Jace sat curled on the edge of the bed Nico claimed he "never used." The place was spotless, sharp, everything in perfect order—which made Jace feel even more out of place.
Nico was lounging on the couch, drink in hand, eyes on him.
"You miss her," he said simply.
Jace didn't deny it.
"You hate her too."
He nodded.
"You think that's love?"
Jace looked at him. "Isn't it?"
That answer made Nico smile. "No. It's addiction."
Jace swallowed. "Then maybe I'm addicted."
"And I'm your rehab."
"You're a relapse."
That made Nico laugh.
But there was no warmth in it.
The next day, Soraya showed up at Jace's old apartment.
It was locked. Empty. Dusty. Like no one had lived there in weeks.
She ran her fingers across his old piano. He hadn't taken it with him.
Her chest tightened.
She had broken him too fast.
Burned him too recklessly.
She didn't regret it. But she wasn't done with him.
Jace finally left Nico's place.
He needed air.
The city felt different now. More cruel. More indifferent.
He wandered back to the apartment he'd left behind. Maybe to collect something. Maybe to see if the past still fit.
When he opened the door, the scent of Soraya's perfume still lingered.
His hands trembled as he touched the keys of his piano.
Behind him, the door creaked.
He turned—and saw her.
They stared at each other like strangers. Or worse—like addicts who'd promised to quit.
Soraya didn't speak.
Jace did. "You always show up when I start healing."
Soraya moved closer. "You're not healed."
He flinched. "You don't get to decide that."
"I decide everything."
"No," he said. "You don't get to have me and throw me away like that."
Soraya didn't answer.
Instead, she stepped forward, pressed her hand to his chest, and whispered, "But I can still make you feel like you belong to me."
He closed his eyes. Just once. Just to remember what it felt like.
Then he stepped back.
"I'm not yours," he said. "Not anymore."
Her expression cracked—only for a second. Then it was gone.
"You think Nico is better?" she spat.
"I don't know," Jace admitted. "But at least he doesn't lie about what he wants."
Her laughter was sharp and dangerous. "He wants to own you just like I did. He just hides it better."
Silence.
They stood there, broken pieces on a bloodstained board.
That night, Soraya called Nico.
"I want him back."
Nico's voice was honeyed venom. "Then take him."
"He's under your spell."
"No," Nico said. "He's choosing his own poison."
She hung up.
Then threw her glass across the room.
Jace stayed in his old place that night.
Alone.
But he kept looking at the door.