The air tightens. Power folds inward like the world is making room for him. I don’t need to look up to know he’s there—I feel him the way you feel gravity change.
He’s on his knees in front of me in the next heartbeat.
Hands at my wrists.
“Look at me,” he says.
It’s not a command.
It’s a lifeline.
I drag my gaze up. His eyes are dark, unreadable, burning with something he’s holding back with terrifying precision. Not anger. Not fear.
Control.
“You stayed,” he says quietly.
My throat tightens. “Barely.”
His thumbs press once, grounding, right where my pulse would be if I had one. “Bare is enough.”
I shudder. The hunger snarls, furious at him for existing so close, for being untouchable by it.
Ace feels it.
His grip tightens a fraction—not to punish, but to remind.
“Easy,” he
