The morning after the almost-kiss felt like waking inside a bruise.
Mara didn’t sleep.
Didn’t eat.
Didn’t breathe normally.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Noah leaning toward her through the rain.
Every time she opened them, she felt the charm’s faint warmth like an accusation.
She needed distance.
She needed rules.
She needed air.
She needed—
She didn’t want to think about what she needed.
She shoved herself out of bed and into the day with mechanical determination.
Work.
Walk.
Avoid Noah.
Avoid magic.
Avoid feelings.
That was the whole plan.
It failed in eight seconds.
Because the elevator dinged just as she reached it.
And Noah stepped out.
He froze.
She froze.
Their eyes met. The air tightened between them instantly — warm, charged, too familiar.
“Mara,
