Mary Louise Emerson

Sunday. Earlier that night, Xander told himself he wouldn’t go. And yet, he found himself moving without thinking—towards her building.

Towards her.

The fabric of his suit shifts as he adjusts his cufflinks, the movement a ritual as much as it is a habit. This suit is different from the one he wore last night. Darker. Sharper. Better suited to the meeting he just left. His jacket hangs open, giving him a more relaxed appearance, though nothing about him is ever truly at ease. Coming from a business meeting—one that required his full attention—he excused himself with every intention of going home.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he’s sitting on the rooftop across from Alaura’s apartment. A place that provides the perfect vantage point. Not too close, not too far. High enough that no human will ever notice him, but near enough that he can see her.

Feel her.

His attention catches on the dark masonry for a second before shifting to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the studio apartment that sits on the third floor.

Even from this distance, he can make out the details. The soft lighting that follows her movements throughout the apartment. The way the city’s glow reflects against the glass, creating a faint, golden halo around her. Everything inside refined—sleek lines, muted tones, and minimalistic simplicity. But he knows there is nothing simple about her.

He doesn’t plan on staying long. Just a glance to confirm that she’s okay. After everything he told himself—every reason he gave himself to walk away—he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

The way she ran into his arms, fit there, like the space was made for her. He let himself enjoy it. The moment etched deep inside of him.

Xander’s spent years mastering restraint, controlling the pull of his instincts, keeping himself detached from things that don’t concern him.

And yet—Alaura does. More than she should.

She has no idea what he is, what he’s done, what he’s able to do. What his world demands of him. No idea what it means for him to want her.

Because that’s what this is. Want. An undeniable pull that began the moment he saw her—felt her. It should have faded.

But it hasn’t.

That’s why he’s here. Not because he has unfinished business. Not because she owes him anything. But for reasons he doesn’t understand, he wants to be.

And that infuriates him.

He exhales slowly, resting his elbows against his knees as he crouches at the edge of the roof, eyes never leaving her.

Inside her apartment, she’s moving around, seemingly untouched by the horrors of the night before. No signs of fear. Not curled up, traumatized, jumping at every shadow.

Relief unfurls in his chest before he can stop it. And he knows she can feel it. The subtle alteration in her emotions, the way her awareness brushes against his.

Alaura’s not afraid of him, not disturbed. She knows he’s there, and she’s letting him stay. Letting him watch her. He can feel her enjoying it.

Drawn to her playfulness, Xander reaches across the distance, his invisible touch tugging at her chin, hoping to lift her head his way. But her focus remains fixed on her plate.

Unable to stop the smirk forming on his mouth as her sarcastic intent settles into a question echoing through his mind, he sends a response back.

The city moves around him—a blur of human existence, fast-paced and forgettable. But up here?

Up here, he’s alone with her.

Knows he shouldn’t be here.

This isn’t normal.

He isn’t normal.

Whatever’s happening between them isn’t normal.

And yet, as he sits there in the quiet of the night, feeling the strange pull between them relaxing into something dangerously comfortable—he makes no move to leave.

If he has any sense of self-preservation, he will turn away and disappear into the night. Erase whatever this is before it becomes something he can’t walk away from.

Still, he remains, watching Alaura as she sits in her apartment enjoying her dinner.

It would be easy for him to step down from this ledge and close the distance between them. For the first time in years, Xander’s unsure if he can trust himself not to.

He forces himself to inhale, pushing back against the desire building inside him, and reminds himself why he can’t have this.

Why he can’t have her.

Rolling his shoulders, he straightens, pulling his focus from the light inside her apartment to the dark, empty rooftop surrounding him. He stands, taking one more glance at her, feeling one more pull of her existence, then vanishes into mist and shadows.