The soft click of a door shutting behind them was the only sound as Erin stepped out onto the balcony, trailing just behind Xander. The cold air bit at her skin, crisp and welcome after the suffocating heat of the ballroom. Music still floated faintly through the cracks of the walls, muffled and distant, like the last remnants of a dream neither of them wanted to return to.
Xander didn't say anything as he walked to the edge of the balcony and rested his palms against the marble railing. The city stretched far and bright beneath them, a web of golden lights blinking lazily against the night sky. Erin hesitated a few steps behind him, hugging her arms to her chest.
She was the first to break the silence.
"You really hate these things, don't you?"
He glanced at her, the shadows under his eyes made more prominent by the cool glow of the overhead fixtures. "Is it that obvious?"
"You looked like you were about two seconds away from either punching someone or vanishing into thin air."
Xander huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. "Both were tempting."
The breeze picked up slightly, fluttering her hair over her shoulders. Without thinking, she walked toward him and leaned against the same railing—though not right next to him. A few safe inches remained between them. Just enough.
"You always seem so in control," she said softly. "Even when people are talking behind your back. Even when that royal tried to provoke you."
"They always try," he said. "And control is just… muscle memory at this point."
Erin tilted her head toward him. "Muscle memory?"
He didn't answer immediately. For a while, they just stood there, both looking down at the city—so distant, so unaffected by everything that had unfolded tonight.
Finally, he said, "When I was younger, I used to think being successful would mean people left me alone. That once I had enough power, the noise would quiet. But it doesn't. It just changes pitch."
That wasn't what she expected him to say. "So you've always hated this world?"
"No. I hated how early I was dragged into it."
He looked at her then, eyes sharper now but not hostile. Just raw.
"They used to watch me like I was a product," he continued, voice lower now. "Every move I made was catalogued. I remember being fourteen and getting pulled aside for smiling too much at a press conference. They said it made me look weak."
Erin blinked. "Smiling?"
"They told me no one takes a smiling heir seriously. That if I wanted to be respected, I had to stop being… soft."
A gust of wind swept through, stirring her dress, chilling her arms. She didn't speak—not out of disinterest, but because she could feel something deep and unfamiliar swirling in her chest. The weight of his words pressed against something inside her she hadn't touched in a long time.
Erin looked down at her fingers on the stone railing. Her voice, when it came, was nearly a whisper. "That's a lonely way to grow up."
Xander didn't deny it.
Another long moment passed. The kind that didn't need to be filled. The silence between them had softened. It wasn't tense anymore—it was real.
Erin felt something tug at her chest, and before she could stop herself, she said, "Sometimes I wonder if… if I even remember who I'm supposed to be."
Xander turned to her slowly. His gaze was steady—waiting.
She could feel the truth rising in her throat. About the lies. The mission. Her real name. The way her days had started to feel like a blurred line between duty and… something else.
But she didn't say it.
Not tonight.
So she gave him a half-smile instead and added, "I mean, with this job, this mansion, your ridiculous alarm system… it's easy to forget life existed before all this."
His lips quirked into a faint smirk. "You think my alarm system is ridiculous?"
She shrugged. "Maybe a little over the top. Do you really need motion detectors on your art pieces?"
"They're custom. And you'd be surprised how many people try to touch them."
He didn't mention the time she had triggered one, but the glint in his eyes said he hadn't forgotten.
The playful beat faded into another pause. Xander looked at her again, more thoughtful this time.
"You did well tonight," he said, voice quiet but firm. "They tried to tear you apart in front of me, and you didn't fold."
She wasn't sure what surprised her more—that he noticed, or that he said it out loud.
Erin didn't respond right away. Instead, she looked out at the skyline again. "I think I was more afraid of embarrassing you than anything."
That seemed to strike him, because his jaw slackened just a little—before he looked away, almost shyly, and nodded once.
The air was colder now. Erin shivered slightly and rubbed her arms.
Without a word, Xander slipped off his blazer and draped it over her shoulders. It was warm from his body heat and smelled faintly like clean soap and something else—something like him.
She looked at him.
"Thanks," she said softly.
"You're welcome."
He stepped back from the railing and looked toward the glass door. "We should probably go back before someone thinks we eloped."
Erin gave a half-scoff, half-laugh. "What a horrifying thought."
He held the door open for her. "Then let's not traumatize them."
As she stepped through, wrapped in his blazer and more conflicted than ever, Erin realized something quietly terrifying:
She hadn't come out here to get closer to him.
But now she wasn't sure she wanted to step away.