Riven’s apartment was on the fifth floor of an old brick building ten minutes from the gym. No doorman. No welcome mat. Just a heavy door and the sound of my own pulse when I knocked.

He opened it like he had been standing there waiting. Knox was already inside, sitting on the arm of a dark couch, sleeves rolled up, watching me walk in like he had placed a bet on whether I would actually show.

I had.

The place was bare in a way that felt intentional. Wide windows. One long couch. A low table with nothing on it. The air smelled like him — clean skin and...