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In the past, Zane had been blind—she had memorized his features but never experienced him seeing her. Today, their eyes had met. But she reminded herself—it had been nothing. Just a cold, blank stare for a stranger. Because in reality, he couldn’t have recognized her. Zane didn’t know what Jay looked like. — “I want the information on that mother and child within thirty minutes,” Zane instructed Ryan as soon as the elevator doors closed. Ryan was surprised at the sudden command. When he looked at his boss, he was taken aback by the rare flicker of emotion on his face.

He made to close it back, but something caught his eye. Zane frowned and reached into it, picking the photographs up. They were pictures of him at the arcade....the ones Asher had taken that day when Zane wasn't looking. His chest tightened, remembering he'd kept them there himself. "Stupid," he muttered, flipped through the stack. "Stupid pictures. Stupid fucking Asher." He reached into the space to take out whatever was left, but stopped when his fingers brushed something deep inside. Zane's brows furrowed, and he dropped the pictures on the passenger seat, taking out what felt like a book.

A silent rebellion against the unspoken rules of our home. Sometimes, after school, if Zane was distracted, Zye would linger near the main gate. Morison, bless his heart, would find an excuse to be busy nearby. Zye would talk, her voice soft, about her day, about her dreams of far-off places. I’d listen, offering quiet observations. Those moments, few and far between, were oxygen. They reminded me that not everyone in the world, not even in that house, saw me as an infection of poverty.

Terrence took the books from Zane before he could stop him, annoyed as he looked at the titles. “All of these are relationship books,” Terrence said slowly, raising his eyebrow as he looked at the big one about how to romance a woman. “Yeah? So what?” Zane snapped and took the books back angrily. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” Blake said, sounding a bit hurt. “I’m not,” Zane admitted. “Then why the books?” Marcus asked curiously. Zane wasn’t going to let his brothers make him feel foolish for buying self-help books. At least he knew he needed help. Terrence had been lucky to get a wife like Christine, and Blake and Marcus were too busy with work to care about anything except hookin

His scent—smoke and winter—filled the air, choking space that was already too small. “You look calm,” he said. “Almost hopeful.” My heart stuttered. Hope was something he hunted for sport. He circled me slowly, like a wolf deciding which part to tear first. “I thought you should see something,” Zane said, pulling a folded sheet of paper from his coat. He waved it lightly. “News travels fast when truth is hungry.” He placed the paper on the bed beside me. Not close enough to grab. Close enough to hurt. I didn’t move.

What could I offer him, a human female who could only bring sorrow to his house? Afterward, Zane and I made love for the morning, which was everything except perfunctory, and thus we were running late, I tried to describe my dream, but Zane, who was so distracted I knew he wasn’t really listening, and he told me to consult the local Luna. Then he kissed me again, and I felt the heat of his body against mine. All right, I thought at the time, once but no more. “I often have hunting dreams,” Zane said while we were sipping our coffee after the girls had gone to the playroom with Dr. Hayes. The PPE was over, but they had first level in few weeks.

"Open. All three. Now." Zane went first. Of course he did. He'd been opening to me by inches for weeks, and now he just let go. I felt him come in... not words, him, the whole noise and warmth and grief of him, the eight months with Reed, the night Gorin sent them off and he was glad of it. All of it handed over with nothing kept back. Here. This is the real one, under the jokes. Take it.

The Encounter at the Market She saw Zane at the local hardware store. He was wearing a flannel shirt and work boots, hauling bags of mulch into the back of a truck. His massive frame was still there, but the "Obsidian Wall" was gone. He looked tired in a normal, human way—the weariness of a man who worked forty hours a week and worried about his mortgage. Elara’s heart leaped into her throat. "Zane!" she called out, stepping toward him. Zane stopped, wiping sweat from his brow with a rag. He looked at her, his eyes a clear, uncomplicated brown. There was no volcanic amber. There was no recognition.

“I’ll see you around.” Zane stood up, brushed himself off, and gathered a couple of books that had fallen. As he walked past me toward the door, his shoulder lightly brushed mine. That’s when I caught it—his scent. Fresh like soap and something sweet, maybe a hint of citrus or warm vanilla. It wrapped around me for a second and made my stomach do a little flip.

I feel a humming in my chest as I scroll through my iPad. My excitement dies down into a panic as I start scrolling, unable to chose one. I judge everything harshly, looking at everything through an imaginary lense that I think to be his. "Alex. Alex. Okay, just send me a link to the latest online magazine that published your work on their site. I don't have a lot of regard for those sites but I guess that's what kids nowadays use to push forward in their careers." Zane says with a light chuckle after a minute of me scrolling in embarrassing panic.