Night pressed against the city like a held breath.
From the balcony of Rafael's apartment, the campus lights looked deceptively peaceful — orderly paths, glowing windows, students drifting in clusters as if nothing had fractured beneath their feet. Anabeth leaned against the railing, arms folded tight, the cool metal grounding her.
She hadn't spoken in nearly an hour.
Behind her, Rafael moved quietly, deliberately, giving her space without withdrawing presence. Cassian had left earlier, summoned by a situation neither of them wanted details about. That left the apartment too quiet — the kind of quiet that forced thoughts to rise.
"You don't have to stand out there alone," Rafael said gently.
Anabeth didn't turn. "If I stop moving, I'll start thinking."
"And if you think?" he asked.
She exhaled slowly. "I'll remember everything Hale said. Everything he tried to turn into truth."
Rafael stepped beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth, not close enough to trap her. It was a choice. Always a choice with him.
"He failed," he said. "You're still here."
She finally looked at him. "You went public for me."
"Yes."
"And now the entire campus watches every step I take."
"Yes."
She swallowed. "What if I can't carry that?"
Rafael's gaze softened. "Then I carry it with you."
The words settled between them — heavy, intimate, dangerous in their sincerity.
Anabeth looked away again, heart beating faster than she wanted to admit. "You make it sound easy."
"It isn't," he replied quietly. "That's why it matters."
Silence stretched, thick with unsaid things.
When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Hale knew parts of me I never told anyone."
Rafael stiffened. "What parts?"
"The ones I'm afraid make me… flawed," she said. "The ones people use to define me before I get to."
He turned fully toward her now. "Anabeth."
She faced him, eyes shining with emotion she refused to let fall. "What if one day you see me the way he did? As something to analyze. To manage."
Rafael lifted a hand — stopped himself — then let it fall. Restraint lived in his posture.
"I see you as someone who survived," he said. "And someone who chooses every day not to be owned by her past."
Her breath hitched.
"That doesn't scare you?" she asked.
"No," he answered without hesitation. "It challenges me."
The city hummed below them.
Anabeth stepped closer — not touching, but close enough that the space between them felt charged, unstable.
"You're always in control," she said. "Doesn't it ever slip?"
Rafael's jaw tightened. "More than you think."
She searched his face, seeing the strain beneath the calm — the discipline it took to stand where he was, to feel what he felt and not act on it.
"Because of me?" she asked softly.
"Because of what I want," he corrected.
Her pulse quickened.
"And what do you want?" she asked.
Rafael inhaled slowly, as if grounding himself. "I want to protect you without caging you. I want to be close without becoming another man who takes more than he gives."
Anabeth's throat tightened. "That sounds like fear."
He nodded once. "It is."
The admission hung heavy.
She reached out then — just barely — fingers brushing the sleeve of his jacket. A simple touch. Innocent.
It felt anything but.
Rafael didn't move away.
Instead, he covered her hand with his own — warm, steady, deliberate.
"That's the danger," he said quietly. "Right there."
Her breath caught at the contact, her body responding before her mind could caution her.
"Then why aren't you pulling away?" she asked.
"Because I trust you," he said. "And because running from this won't make it safer."
The words sent a tremor through her.
She stepped closer, their bodies now separated by only inches. The air between them felt electric, fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter restraint entirely.
Rafael leaned down slightly, his forehead almost touching hers — almost.
"You're not a weakness," he murmured. "You're a risk I'm choosing."
Anabeth closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the sincerity, the intensity, the promise and the warning tangled together.
For a moment, she imagined what it would be like to stop holding back — to let herself fall into the pull between them, to forget cameras and enemies and consequences.
Her fingers tightened in his sleeve.
Rafael's breathing deepened.
The line was right there.
And they both felt it.
Then — a knock at the door.
Sharp. Urgent.
Reality crashed back in.
Anabeth pulled away first, heart racing, grounding herself with effort.
Rafael exhaled slowly, regaining composure before crossing the room.
Cassian stepped inside, eyes alert, tension radiating off him.
"Hale's supporters are stirring," he said. "Anonymous messages. Threats masked as concern."
Anabeth's stomach clenched.
Cassian's gaze flicked between them — not judgmental, just knowing.
"This is why proximity is dangerous," he added quietly.
Rafael nodded. "I know."
Cassian met Anabeth's eyes. "So do you."
She straightened, resolve settling back into place.
"I won't be used to destabilize you," she said firmly. "Either of you."
Rafael studied her for a long moment, then gave a small nod. "Good."
The night deepened outside.
Cassian left again soon after, the city calling him back into its shadows.
Anabeth returned to the balcony alone, steadying her breath.
Rafael joined her a moment later, careful to keep space this time — but not distance.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"For what?"
"For stopping," she replied. "When it would've been easier not to."
Rafael looked at her, something fierce and tender in his eyes. "Desire without discipline becomes destruction."
She nodded slowly. "Then stay disciplined."
He smiled faintly. "Only if you stay honest."
They stood together, not touching, not retreating — suspended in something unfinished and powerful.
Below them, the campus lights continued to glow, unaware of the tension building above, unaware that love under pressure didn't weaken people.
It sharpened them.
And this — whatever it was becoming — would not be gentle.
But it would be chosen.