DAVID

Her room smells like her. It always does. A mix of soap, that shampoo she uses, and something faintly sweet—like wildflowers after a storm. When I step inside, I close the door behind me, careful not to disturb a thing. I don't have to see her to feel her presence here.

This is Rachel's space, her sanctuary. Her bed, her desk, her closet—it's all so her , and it draws me in, pulls me under. Even when she's not here, she is.

The first time I came here, I was scared. Not of her, but of being caught. Of Marco's sharp eyes or Jake's orders. But now? Now I know better. They can't stop me. They're too busy running around, searching for me like the fools they are. Do they really think I'd risk their little mission by exposing them? No. I'm too smart for that.

But Rachel… she's different. She's worth the risk.

I stand in the middle of her room and let my gaze wander. Her desk is cluttered, as always—papers scattered, a notebook open, a pen resting crookedly on top. I step closer and glance at what she's been writing. It's nothing important, just college applications. But even that feels personal, like a piece of her she doesn't share with anyone.

The bed catches my attention next. It always does. It's unmade, the comforter tangled at the foot, her pillow pushed to one side. I can picture her here so clearly—lying on her back, her arm thrown over her eyes, her hair spilling across the sheets like gold.

I've watched her like this. At night, when the house is dark and everyone's asleep, I've crept into her room and watched her. I don't use her window anymore—her friends have grown too vigilant, too suspicious. But the basement window? The one hidden behind the overgrown hydrangea, with its tiny crack in the seal? It's just wide enough for a fly to slip through. Plus, there are so many little dark corners down there to demorph and morph without anyone seeing.

I've watched her toss and turn, her forehead creased, her lips parted as though she's dreaming of something she can't quite hold onto. It pains me to see her like that, burdened and restless. Sometimes, she whispers in her sleep. It's faint, barely a sound, but I lean in close, straining to hear. I like to imagine she's dreaming of me. Missing me as much as I've been missing her. But soon, that will change.

I lower myself onto her bed, lying back against the pillows, and close my eyes. The mattress dips under my weight, cradling me. I can feel her here, her warmth, her presence. She's been alone in this bed for too long, fighting her battles in the dark, with no one to hold her, to tell her it's okay to let go. But I'll change that. I'll be here for her, and she'll sleep soundly again. In my arms.

I shift, sinking deeper into the mattress, letting it embrace me the way it does her. The sensation is intoxicating, like I'm being drawn closer to her, pulled into her world. My hand presses against the pillow, and I turn over, my lips grazing the fabric. It's her— all of her. Her scent, her touch, the ghost of her presence surrounding me, filling me. I bury my face in the fabric. The rush it sends through me is immediate, electric, and I have to grip the edge of the mattress to steady myself. I can barely contain the want I have for her now. But I will. I'll wait.

I run my fingers over the edge of the mattress, letting my touch linger. It's soft, worn, familiar— hers. This is where she dreams, where she lets herself go, where her walls come down. I can see it so clearly: her breathing slow and even, her body relaxed as I lie beside her. My hand brushing her hair back, my lips murmuring reassurances against her skin. Our bodies melting together when she finally, finally surrenders to me.

Heat coils low in my stomach, spreading through me, and my heart pounds hard against my ribs. The ache is almost unbearable, this overwhelming need for her. But it's more than want, more than lust—it's devotion. It's knowing she's mine, even if she doesn't see it yet.

I have to force myself out of her bed before I give in to temptation.

They don't know you like I do, Rachel.

Jake thinks he's your leader. Cassie thinks she's your friend. And Marco—he thinks he's something more, doesn't he? I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he hovers around you, always just a little too close, like he's trying to claim something that isn't his. It's pathetic. He doesn't deserve you.

But I do.

I've seen her with them, laughing, talking, worrying . They're all worried about me. They think I'm dangerous. Jake thinks I'll ruin everything. Marco wants me gone. But Rachel? She doesn't say much about me. She's too proud, too strong to admit that she misses me. But I know she does. I can see it in her eyes, in the way she hesitates when they talk about me. She doesn't want to believe I'm the enemy.

Because I'm not.

I run my hand across the surface of her desk, pausing at a small collection of trinkets—bracelets, a few books, a tiny silver frame holding a picture of her and her sisters. A life split between two worlds: the warrior and the girl. But she can't keep this balance forever. She needs someone to help her, to guide her. Someone who knows what's best.

The corkboard above her desk catches my eye, filled with photos and scraps of her life. I didn't get a good look at it last time I was in here. Pictures of her family, her friends, moments frozen in time. My gaze lands on one—a photo of her and Marco taken maybe a few years ago. They're standing close, too close, laughing like they share some secret. My jaw tightens.

He doesn't see her, not the way I do. He doesn't understand the depths of her strength, her vulnerability. He's a distraction, one she doesn't need. I rise from the bed and step closer, carefully unpinning the photo. My fingers linger on it for a moment before I tear it cleanly in half, separating Marco from her. His half flutters to the floor. I tuck the piece with Rachel into my pocket.

It's symbolic, really. One less weight holding her down. One less obstacle between us.

I move to her closet and push the door open, just a little. Her clothes hang in neat rows—jackets, shirts, dresses. I reach for a shirt, the fabric cool under my fingers. I press it to my face and inhale deeply. This is what she smells like when she's close to me, her body brushing against mine.

I press my back against the closet wall, my heart pounding in my ears. My fingers tighten around the shirt, the fabric scrunching in my hands, but I don't care. The space is small, but I'm not thinking about that now. All I can think about is her. How close I am. How close I will be.

The jealousy of Marco lingers like acid in my veins. The way he looks at her, always hovering, like he's her protector. He doesn't deserve her. He never will. I do. I'm the one who will make her see that. She's mine—she just doesn't know it yet.

I press my face back into her shirt, letting the scent of her fill me, and close my eyes.

She's going to understand, one day. She's going to see that I'm the only one who truly knows her, who loves her for what she is. Not for the mask she wears with them, but for the fire inside her, the strength, the beauty.

My chest tightens, each breath coming faster, shallower, as the image of her floods my mind—so vivid, so consuming it makes my pulse race. I can see the curve of her body beneath me, the way her lips part with a soft gasp, her skin warm and electric under my hands. Heat surges through me, sharp and insistent, spiraling lower, a throbbing ache I can't ignore.

My body hums with need. Her scent clings to everything around me, sweet and intoxicating, and it pushes me further, pulls me deeper. I let myself sink into it, let the desire take hold. My mind races with thoughts of her beneath me, of her finally giving in, her body pliant and eager against mine.

I close my eyes, my breath hitching as the ache intensifies, burning hotter with every passing second. There's no use fighting it—I don't want to fight it. How could I, when everything about her drives me to this edge? When I know it's only a matter of time before she's truly mine?

So I give in to the temptation she always ignites in me, letting it consume every thought, every breath, every part of me, all the while knowing that this is where she's meant to be. Where she will be.

With me. Always.