Chapter 11
That evening Aiden and Iris walked ahead of us, already deep in another argument about boundaries and “what the hell is even happening anymore.” Their voices floated back on the cool air—Aiden’s low and irritated, Iris’s lighter and sharp. Dorian and I trailed behind at a slower pace. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his dark coat, shoulders slightly hunched against the evening breeze that carried the first real bite of winter. Even though his legs were much longer than mine, he kept adjusting his stride to match mine exactly, like he was afraid of pulling ahead even by a step.
We walked in silence for a long time. It wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of quiet that felt familiar, the same rhythm we used to fall into during late-night calls when words weren’t necessar
