The taste of his mouth still burned on mine when he tore away, as if he’d woken from some dangerous spell he couldn’t afford to keep. His grip lingered against my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheekbone for a fleeting second before he stepped back, gunmetal eyes dark and unreadable.

The air between us was too heavy, too charged. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to hit him or kiss him again.

Around us, the room was still wrecked—glass and smoke clung to the air, the stench of blood and gunpowder thicker than the dawn creeping in through broken windows. His men were already patching wounds, dragging bodies aside, resetting...