"Tell me you're joking," Marceline breathed, her voice barely audible, a fragile whisper laced with desperate hope. Even as the words slipped from her lips, she felt the weight of inevitability pressing down on her. Deep in her gut, she knew the answer, and the realization only deepened her sense of vulnerability.

Cross's expression was an unwavering wall of seriousness—intense, focused, and devoid of the slightest hint of jest. His dark eyes bore into hers with an intensity that made her feel stripped bare, as if he could peer deep into her very soul. Each moment stretched, reality itself seeming to warp around them, leaving her feeling both exposed and...