bChapter /bb27 /b

Caleb’s POV

I let out a slow breath, my heart hammering in my chest as 1 stare into Care’s eyes, feeling the weight of the moment settling between us. It’s babsurd/bb, /bbreally/bb, /bThe way the dim glow of the streetlights flickers against her face, highlighting the soft amusement fugging at the corners of her lips, making her look both mischievous and strangely vulnerable. My hand is already half–raised, the space between us narrowing, and then, just before our lips can meet, she bthrows /bher hand up between us and-

Bursts outughing.

The sound is unexpected, sudden, and so genuinely amused that for a moment, I just stare at her, dumbfounded. Then, as the sheer ridiculousness of the situation settles in, I feel my own lips twitch, and before I can stop myself, a chuckle slips past my throat. It starts slow, low, but then builds, and suddenly, we’re bothughing like lunatics in the middle of the street. Care clutches her stomach, shaking her head as she gasps for air, her face alight with

amusement.

“Oh, Caleb, no way,” she manages between fits ofughter, wiping at her eyesb. /b“Even if the world was literally ending, and I mean–like, apocalypse, fire raining from the sky, demons crawling out of the ground kind of ending–I still couldn’t do it.” She sucks in a deep breathb, /bshaking her head dramatically before shing me that familiar, teasing grin. “Kissing you would be like kissing my own brother.”

That makes meugh even harder, the tension that had built up only moments ago dissolving into nothing but pure, ridiculous relief. “God, I knowbi,/i/bb” /bbI /badmit, shaking my head as I rub the back of my neck. “What were we even thinking?b” /b

“We weren’t,” she corrects with a snort. “It was the moment. The damn moment got to usb./bb” /bShe gestures vaguely around us as if the cool night air and bthe /bdistant hum of the city lights are somehow to me for our almost–mistake.

I nod, exhaling deeply before shing her a grin. “Alright, let’s pretend that never happened. I’ll drive you home.”

But she immediately shakes her head, her eyes lighting up with something else entirelyi. /i“Nah. I don’t want to sit in your stupid bcar/bb, /bCaleb. I want to run.

I raise an eyebrow, but I already know what she means. “In your wolf form?”

She nods, her expression shifting, theughter still lingering in her eyes but now mixed with something bwilder/bb, /bfreer. “Yeah. I need to shake this off. Need to run, feel the wind, stretch my legs, you know?”

I hesitate for half a second, my protective instincts ring up despite knowing full well that Care can handle herself just fine. But the way she’s looking at me now, with that barely contained excitement, makes it impossible to say no.

“Alright,” I finally say, sighing as I shove my hands into my pockets. “But at least let me follow behind you, make sure you don’t get into troubleb./bb” /b

As I take a step forward, eager to join her, she stops me with a raised hand, her expression soft but firm. “Calebb, /byour car is still hereb,/bb” /bshe reminds eyes flickering toward the sleek ck vehicle parked a few feet away. “This isn’t bexactly /bthe kind of neighborhood where you leave an expensive car unattended and expect it to be here when youe back.” There’s a lightness in her tone, but the warning in her words is real.

me,

her

I nce back at my car, exhaling a quiet chuckle. She has a point. I might not care much about material things, but I also don’t want to deal with the hassle. of exining to insurance how my car mysteriously vanished while I was off running through the woods with her.

Still, there’s a part of me that hesitates. The tension between us from earlier had finally settled, and now that we’re back on stable ground, I don’t want to part ways just yet. I had expected the night to end with unresolved tension, maybe beven /blingering regrets, but instead, there’s this–this quiet, unspoken understanding between us that makes it easier to breathe.

“Yeah, alright, I finally say, nodding, though I can’t shake the feeling that I want to say something more. Thank her, maybe. Apologize againb, /beven though bI /bknow she’s already let it go. Tell her–what? The words press against my throat, but I don’t let them out. Instead, I just look at her, really look bat /bher–the way the moonlight catches in her hair, the way she looks both fierce and untouchable yet somehow still achingly familiar, like she belongs in ba /bbp /blong since abandoned.

She must sense the shift in my expression because she gives me ba /bsmall, knowing smile. “Goodnight, Caleb.” Her voice is softer this time, bthe /bbusual /bguardedness easing just enough for me to feel it.