Milk & Gunpowder

Chapter Eight

He finished the last bite without a word.

The quiet between them wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Thick with everything neither of them dared say, stitched into each glance, each movement. Cynrim set the bowl aside and reached for the glass of milk she'd warmed earlier, holding it out like a silent offering.

His eyes narrowed. "I don't drink milk."

"Yeah?" She tilted her head, mouth curving with something just shy of a smirk. "I don't like grown men with bullet holes bleeding out on my bed, either. Guess we're both making compromises today."

Rover blinked. Then just barely his lips twitched.

The most dangerous man she'd ever met, with a body carved by war and a past soaked in blood, looked strangely... tame under the soft gold sunlight spilling in through her curtains. His hair was a mess, jaw shadowed in stubble, the bandages around his ribs stark against his skin. And yet here he was sitting in her bed, giving her that look that made her chest feel too small.

He took the glass.

Cynrim stood beside him, watching. Not hovering. Just... watching. The way his throat bobbed with each sip. The way a drop of milk slipped past his lip, slid down his neck, lingered on his collarbone like it belonged there.

She didn't reach for a napkin.

She used her fingers.

Her thumb swept the corner of his mouth. Slow. Careful. She felt the way his breath hitched under the touch, saw the pulse tick at his neck when she followed it ,tracing the trail with a featherlight swipe along his throat.

She didn't say anything. Neither did he.

But the air between them shifted. Again.

Thicker. Warmer. Charged.

The silence wasn't empty anymore. It buzzed with the heat of something blooming something unspoken and sharp-edged and terrifyingly real.

He met her gaze.

And this time... he didn't look away.

Not when her hand lingered just a moment too long.

Not when her breath caught like she wasn't sure she was allowed to breathe him in.

Not when her eyes dipped to his lips ,just once, before darting back up.

Her phone rang.

Cynrim startled, pulling away fast, the spell snapping like a taut string. Zayev's name flashed across the screen.

She answered, trying to steady her voice.

"He's awake," she said, too quickly before Zayev could ask.

A pause. Then Zayev's voice, low and tight. "Good. But listen to me ,don't go outside. If Ezren finds out he's alive, it'll turn to hell again. I'll send someone with supplies, but until then, you stay put."

"I understand," she murmured, glancing at Rover.

She handed him the phone, their fingers brushing in the exchange, and left the room without another word ,glass still warm in her hand, heart thundering like it didn't know how to calm down anymore.