[LINA]

So how could I talk about love and marriage when my twin brother couldn't even believe in those things anymore?

When I could see his heart still breaking every time he looked at Eve's old mug by the sink or heard a song she once hummed?

My mother sighed, pulling me back to the present. "I just want to see you happy," she said gently. "And I know you'll get there. Whether it's now or five years from now. I just want you to live. Not just sit and wait for everything to be perfect."

I gave her a small smile, reaching for her hand across the table. "I know, mom. I'm happy. I really am. It's just . . . I want to take my time. And I want to enjoy the moment."

"Of course," she said, squeezing my fingers. "Just don't take too long. Your father and I aren't getting any younger."

My father, who had just taken a sip of water, choked slightly. "Don't drag me into this."

We all laughed.

And just like that, the tension eased.

I loved my family. As chaotic as they were, as intrusive as my mom could be, they cared. They worried. They love. And that was enough.

Later that night, as I texted Daniel goodnight, I thought about what my mom said.

He really was a good man.

Maybe, someday, the future she dreamed of would come true. Maybe I'd walk down an aisle with flowers in my hands and him waiting at the other end.

But for now, I was okay where we were.

No rush.

No pressure.

Just this quiet rhythm between two people figuring it out—day by day, step by step.

I was ready to go to sleep when insomnia hit me like a slow-burning curse. I tossed and turned for two hours, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, hoping the mindless glow would lull me into unconsciousness.

But nothing worked. My thoughts wouldn't quiet down.

My body refused to rest.

Eventually, I gave up.

I slipped out of bed, the cold floor beneath my feet grounding me in the early hours. The house was quiet—too quiet, the kind of silence that made everything feel heavier.

I padded toward the kitchen in search of warm milk, maybe even those sleeping pills tucked somewhere in the medicine box. Just something to anchor me, to knock me out.

But the moment I opened my door, I stopped short.

Dylan was there. Enjoying the story? Discover more on M|V|LEM6PYR.

Of course he was—he was always there, guarding my door like some silent sentinel. But tonight, something was different.

His presence didn't just block my path. It stopped me.

The hallway light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the stormy stillness in his grey eyes. He looked like stone most days—unshakable, unreadable—but not tonight.

Tonight, his mask had cracked, if only a little.

There was something raw in his expression. Something too human. A flicker of vulnerability I wasn't meant to see. And it made my heart thud against my ribs in a panicked rhythm. Like it remembered something I'd worked so hard to forget.

I swallowed hard.

Why now?

Why did just seeing him like this drag me backward, as if no time had passed at all? As if I hadn't spent weeks training myself to move on, to breathe around him without feeling like I might drown in everything unsaid?

Maybe it was time. Time to let go of this dependency. Time to suggest that he go to Cole's side instead. My brother needed him more, especially with the kind of danger that crept at him every day—the kind of danger that made desperate women resort to curses, enchantments, and all sorts of twisted magic.

Cole was exposed. He was vulnerable right now and needed all the help he could get.

And me?

I was just a girl who couldn't even walk past her bodyguard without her pulse betraying her.

"Lina."

His voice was low, almost gentle—but it hit like thunder.

I froze.

My name sounded so different when he said it. Like something sacred. Like it didn't belong to anyone else.

My entire body tensed. Why? Why did one word from him shake me like this?

"W-what?" I asked, too fast. Too defensive.

I hated how small my voice sounded. Guarded. Unnatural. Like I was trying too hard not to feel anything at all. And maybe I was. Maybe if I held myself tightly enough, I wouldn't crack open in front of him.

He took a single step forward.

Not threatening. Not invasive. Just . . . close enough that I could feel the quiet between us grow heavier.

"You couldn't sleep?" he asked, his eyes not leaving mine.

I nodded stiffly. "Yeah. Thought I'd get some milk."

He said nothing for a moment. Just looked at me like he could see past everything I was trying to hide. And maybe he could. He always had that way of knowing too much without asking.

"I'll warm it for you," he said, his voice softer now.

I blinked. "You don't have to—"

"I want to."

That silenced me more than anything else.

Because Dylan never said things like that. He did things—protected, followed, watched—but he never made them feel personal. He never used words like want.

And now that he had . . . I didn't know what to do with it.

He turned toward the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Just a few steps down the hallway, slow and sure, like he expected me to follow.

And I did.

Because even though I wasn't ready to admit it out loud, part of me wanted to stay in that silence with him. The kind of silence where everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of something real.

Something that terrified me.

Something that might return me to him over and over again.

"Here."

I was jolted out of my daze the moment Dylan handed me the warm glass of milk.

His fingers brushed mine—just barely—but it was enough to send a current up my arm.

I blinked up at him, caught off guard by how close he stood. His face was unreadable again, the soft crack from earlier now sealed behind his usual walls.

But there was something brewing behind his eyes.

Something he wasn't saying.