The Last Place They'll Look

Gregory's message burned behind my eyelids every time I blinked.

You kissed him. I warned you. Now you'll both pay.

I shoved the phone into my coat pocket before Jace could see my face. He was still coughing smoke, still gripping my hand like I might dissolve into the cold night air. Marcus was already pulling his truck around, headlights cutting through the chaos of fire trucks and emergency vehicles. The Forge was still burning, orange flames licking out of the sixth-floor windows, and somewhere out there in the darkness, Gregory was watching it all with a smile on his face.

"What did that text say?" Jace's voice was hoarse, but his grip on my hand tightened.

"Nothing new." The lie came out smooth, automatic. I'd been lying to protect him for days now, and it was starting to feel like a second skin.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Shutting me out." He stopped walking, pulling me to a halt beside him. His soot-streaked face was inches from mine, and even covered in ash, even with blood drying on his temple, he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. "You just kissed me in front of half the fire department. You don't get to lie to me anymore."

My heart stumbled. He was right. I'd kissed him. I'd grabbed his face and pressed my mouth to his and poured every terrified, desperate feeling into that single moment. And now I had to figure out what came next—if anything came next at all.

"It was a warning," I admitted. "He said we'll both pay."

Jace's jaw tightened. He didn't let go of my hand.

Marcus drove us to the edge of town, to a motel that charged by the week and didn't ask questions. The kind of place with flickering neon and parking lot potholes and curtains that hadn't been washed since the nineties. He paid cash at the front desk while Jace and I waited in the truck, neither of us speaking.

"He can't stay here," Marcus said when he returned, handing Jace a plastic keycard. "It's not safe. If his father knows about Sophie's apartment, he probably knows about this place too."

"It's one night," Jace said. "I just need one night to figure out what to do."

"Figure it out fast." Marcus looked at me, his brown eyes full of worry I didn't deserve. "You sure you want to stay with him? You can crash on my couch. My roommate's out of town."

I shook my head. "I'm not leaving him alone."

Marcus didn't argue. He just nodded, squeezed my shoulder once, and drove off into the dark with a promise to check on us in the morning.

The motel room was exactly as depressing as I expected. One bed with a floral comforter that had seen better decades. A lamp with a crooked shade. A bathroom the size of a closet. Jace stood in the doorway like he was afraid to step inside, his gray hoodie still reeking of smoke, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"I'll sleep on the floor," he said.

"There's a bed."

"I'm not taking the bed while you—"

"I'm not letting you sleep on the floor after someone burned down your apartment."

"I've slept on worse."

"So have I. That doesn't mean you should."

He finally looked at me, and I saw it again—the crack in his armor, the boy underneath the King persona who didn't think he deserved a mattress or a blanket or anything soft. I wanted to shake him. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to scream at him until he understood that he wasn't his father, that he never would be.

"This was a mistake," he said quietly.

"Which part? The kiss? Or letting me stay?"

"All of it." He dragged a hand through his smoke-damaged hair. "I shouldn't have let you come to the fire. I shouldn't have called Marcus. I shouldn't have—"

"Kissed me back?"

His eyes snapped to mine. "You kissed me."

"And you kissed me back. I was there. I remember."

"Sophie." The way he said my name was half warning, half plea. "My father is a monster. He's not going to stop. He's not going to disappear. As long as you're near me, you're in danger. I can't—" His voice cracked. "I can't be the reason you get hurt."

"Funny. My father was a monster too." The words came out before I could stop them. "He drained our savings and vanished when I was fourteen. Left my mother to die in a hospital bed with nothing but debt and a daughter who couldn't save her."

Jace went still. The silence in the room was so thick I could feel it pressing against my skin.

"So I know exactly what it's like to be collateral damage," I continued. "I know what it's like to be afraid of becoming the person who hurt you. But I also know that pushing everyone away doesn't protect them—it just leaves you alone."

"Maybe I deserve to be alone."

"That's not your choice to make."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I stepped closer. Close enough to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the faint tremor in his hands, the way his breath caught when I tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. "It means I'm not going anywhere. Not because of your father. Not because you're scared. Not because you think you're doing me a favor by pushing me away."

"You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." I poked his chest with one finger. "You're terrified of turning into your father. So you sabotage everything good before it can hurt you first. But I'm not one of your puck bunnies, Jace. I'm not going to disappear just because you tell me to."

His hand came up and wrapped around my wrist. Not hard. Just holding. His thumb pressed against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel how fast my heart was beating.

"You're impossible," he said.

"So I've been told."

"I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Let someone in." He repeated the words he'd said to me a week ago, but this time they sounded less like a confession and more like a question. "I don't know how to be good for you."

"I'm not asking you to be perfect." My voice softened. "I'm just asking you to stop running."

He didn't answer right away. The lamp buzzed overhead. The wind rattled the window. Somewhere in the distance, a police siren wailed, and we both flinched.

Then my phone rang.

Not a text this time. A call. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw the name on the screen: Diane. My supervisor at the tutoring center. Calling at nearly midnight.

I answered. "Diane? What's wrong?"

"Sophie, thank God you're okay." Her voice was rushed, panicked. "The athletic department just called me. They're pulling you from the Kingston assignment. Effective immediately."

"What? Why?"

"There was an incident. A fire at his apartment building. The university is worried about liability. They're assigning him a different tutor—someone from the athletic staff, not a student worker."

My stomach dropped. "Diane, I need that assignment. The bonus—"

"I know. I tried to fight for you, but the decision's already made. They said it's for your safety." She paused. "Sophie, is there something going on that I should know about?"

I looked at Jace. He was watching me, his expression unreadable. The boy who'd just told me he couldn't be the reason I got hurt. The boy whose father was still out there, still hunting us.

"No," I said into the phone. "Nothing's going on. I'll be fine."

I hung up. The silence rushed back in.

"They took the assignment," Jace said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Good?" My voice cracked. "I needed that five hundred dollars. I'm three days from eviction. Without it—"

"I'll figure it out."

"You don't have money. Your apartment just burned down."

"I'll figure it out," he repeated. There was something in his voice I didn't recognize. A quiet determination. A promise.

Hours later, the room was dark. Jace had insisted on the floor, spreading a spare blanket across the worn carpet while I took the bed. Neither of us had slept. I could hear his breathing—slow and steady, but too controlled to be real.

"Jace?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you awake?"

A pause. "Yeah."

I stared at the ceiling. The shadows from the window stretched across the water-stained tiles like reaching hands. "What happens tomorrow?"

"I don't know."

"That's not comforting."

"I'm not good at comforting."

I almost laughed. Almost. But before I could answer, a sound cut through the silence. A heavy knock on the door. Three sharp raps that echoed through the tiny room like gunshots.

Jace was on his feet before I could move. His hand closed around the base of the lamp on the nightstand, ripping it from the socket. He pressed himself against the wall beside the door, motioning for me to stay silent.

Another knock. Harder this time. Then a voice, muffled through the wood.

"Jace? I know you're in there. Open the door, son."

Gregory.

Jace's face went pale. He looked at me across the dark room, and in his eyes I saw the six-year-old boy who'd hidden in closets while his mother screamed. I saw the seventeen-year-old who'd thrown his father to the ground but refused to hit him. I saw the man who was terrified of becoming a monster but still stood between me and danger without hesitation.

He put his finger to his lips. Then he reached for the door handle.