The same pull,The same fire.
939 Words
The garage was supposed to be silent after hours. But silence has a way of screaming when you’re not supposed to be there.
It was past midnight when I slipped back in through the service door, hoodie up, sneakers silent on the polished concrete. The air was cold enough to bite — all sharp edges and secrets.
Adrian’s office was on the upper floor, glass-walled and immaculate like the man himself. I’d seen him lock it earlier, but he wasn’t as untouchable as he liked to think. His access cards had a pattern. His habits had a rhythm. And I’d spent enough nights reading people instead of manuals to notice both.
I wasn’t here to snoop — okay, maybe I was — but I needed answers.
That blueprint haunted me. The VX-R3 system wasn’t some ordinary setup. It was Rogue’s. And if Adrian had it, that meant he knew more about the masked racer who’d saved my life — and then vanished — than he was letting on.
The keypad blinked red when I first tried it. Then green. One of his old test codes still worked.
His office smelled like him — metal, leather, and something faintly electric. Not cologne, not chemical. It was the smell of control.
The computer screen hummed awake with a soft glow. Folders lined the desktop — project specs, sponsor contracts, engine blueprints — all password-protected. Except one.
A folder named: DRIVER_03
I hesitated, pulse racing, then double-clicked.
It opened to a single video file. Date: two years ago.
My breath caught. Two years ago was the last time anyone saw Rogue before he disappeared.
The video played.
Static. Then darkness. Then headlights cutting through a rain-slicked track. A car — his car — spinning, flames, metal twisting in on itself. And then a hand reaching out from the wreckage… a hand with a scar running across the palm.
The same scar I’d seen on Adrian’s hand earlier today when he handed me that blueprint.
“No…” I whispered.
“Curiosity can be dangerous, Luna.”
I froze.
His voice — calm, deep, familiar — came from behind me.
I turned slowly. Adrian was standing in the doorway, half in shadow, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his forearms. No corporate armor this time — just raw presence.
“You followed me here,” I said, trying to sound steady.
He stepped closer. “I didn’t have to. You’re predictable when something bothers you.”
“I’m not predictable.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
I clenched my fists, glaring. “That video—”
“Shouldn’t exist,” he finished, walking past me. He shut down the monitor with a single tap. “And yet, here you are, trying to resurrect it.”
My chest tightened. “That was him, wasn’t it? Rogue. You were there that night.”
He turned, eyes locking on mine. “Drop it.”
“No.”
“Luna.”
The way he said my name — quiet but laced with warning — sent a strange chill down my spine.
“You had his tech. His blueprint. His engine. What are you hiding, Cross?”
He exhaled, jaw tense. “You think you’re ready for the truth?”
“I’ve been ready since the night he disappeared.”
Something flickered behind his gaze. A memory. A ghost. Maybe guilt.
He walked closer until the space between us thinned to a few inches. The air shifted — tense, magnetic, dangerous.
“Rogue,” he said softly, “wasn’t who you think he was.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand came up slowly, hovering near my jawline but not quite touching. “You have no idea what kind of fire you’re standing in.”
“I’ve been living in it my whole life,” I shot back.
He smiled faintly, but it wasn’t warmth. It was resignation.
“Then maybe that’s why I can’t look away.”
The words hit harder than they should have. His voice had dropped lower, almost to a whisper, and suddenly it wasn’t just confrontation — it was something else. Something I couldn’t name without crossing a line.
“You don’t just watch engines, Cross,” I said quietly. “You study people like blueprints.”
“And you,” he murmured, “keep proving why I do.”
The silence that followed was thick — heavy enough to drown in.
For a heartbeat, I thought he might close the distance between us. He didn’t. Instead, he turned away, walking toward the door, leaving the air trembling with everything unsaid.
At the doorway, he paused. “The next time you break into my office, Luna,” he said without looking back, “make sure you’re ready to find what you’re actually looking for.”
“And what’s that?” I challenged.
He looked over his shoulder — just enough for our eyes to meet in the reflection of the glass.
“Me.”
Then he was gone.
I stood there long after the echo of his footsteps faded, my pulse refusing to settle.
The man was a contradiction — sharp edges wrapped in quiet control, warmth buried under frost. And now, every look, every word, every heartbeat between us was suspect.
Because deep down, I could feel it — the same energy I felt when Rogue was near.
The same pull.
The same fire.
And for the first time, I couldn’t tell which of them haunted me more — the man behind the mask… or the one standing right in front of me.
- Writer
