I used to love winter.
The silence.
The precision.
The stillness that made everything predictable.
But tonight, the cold feels like punishment—sharp, personal, and aimed directly at me.
The glass walls of my penthouse overlook a city drowning in Christmas lights, but none of them touch me. Not anymore. Not after what happened with Luna. The memory hits like a blade: her eyes glossy with fury, her hands shaking as she ripped the Rogue helmet off my head. Her voice—broken, betrayed, trembling.
“You lied to me. You controlled me.”
She didn’t even stay long enough to hear the parts I struggled to say.
That everything I did was to keep her alive.
That obsession wasn’t something I chose—it was something that happened the moment she challenged me on that track, fiery and furious, racing
