MinaThe word hung between us, a small, heavy thing that settled into the quiet of the room. Jace didn’t blink. His hands, wide and mapped with the faint, pale tracks of old scars, didn’t shift from the stone ledge, but his weight leaned forward just enough that his bare chest brushed against mine through the thin linen of the nightgown. The contrast was a shock—the linen was cool, the stone beneath my thighs was unforgivingly cold, but he was entirely heat.I looked at him, really looked at him, and the ten years between the alleyway and this kitchen felt like they were being crushed into a single second. I was ten again, clutching a phone in a closet, listening to a voice from a city of glass. Now, that voice was a physical weight. He wasn't the boy who killed the dog. He was a man with heavy shoulders and eyes that looked like they knew exactly what I was thinking.He reached down, his fingers catching the hem of the gown. He gathered it up slowly, the rough, home-spun fabric bunch
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