They didn't speak much on the drive back to the mansion. The silence wasn't heavy. It was the kind that came after laughter—warm, easy, thoughtful. When they pulled up outside, Erin didn't move.
Xander glanced over. "You alright?"
"Yeah," she said, then hesitated. "I just don't want to go inside yet."
He followed her gaze to the fading streaks of peach and lavender in the sky.
"I know a better view," he said.
The sun had already begun to set when they returned to the mansion, painting the walls in tones of warm gold and sleepy orange. Erin dropped her bag on the hallway bench and sighed—not from exhaustion, but from something quieter, more internal.
Xander watched her for a moment, then wordlessly tilted his head toward the stairs. "Come on," he said, voice low.
"Where?" she asked, suspicious but too content to protest.
"You'll see."
He led her up the winding staircase, past the main halls and guest rooms, all the way up to the private rooftop terrace. It wasn't particularly grand—just a square stone layout with a view of the city skyline and a few tall potted plants along the edges. But it was quiet. And empty.
It was cooler than the streets, the breeze tugging gently at Erin's loose hair as they climbed the last of the stairs. The door creaked open to a flat expanse of concrete and gravel, edged by a low wall and scattered with empty flower pots.
The city stretched wide beneath them. Golden lights flickered on building windows like stars settling down for the night. And the last strands of sunlight caught on the glass railings like flame.
"Why have I never been up here?" Erin asked, stepping forward and folding her arms over the balustrade.
"Because you always disappear after dinner," he said. "And because I usually don't bring people up here."
She turned her head slightly. "That sounds almost sentimental."
He didn't deny it.
She let the silence settle for a moment before adding, "This view doesn't match the house. It feels… softer."
"That's why I come here. It's the only place that doesn't remind me of who I'm expected to be."
The words struck her in a strange place. Somewhere tender. She looked over and found him already watching her, again. Like he always did when he thought she wouldn't notice.
"So," he said abruptly, shifting the weight of the moment. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking," she said slowly, "that this day almost made me forget."
"Forget what?"
"That this isn't going to last."
A beat passed between them.
He didn't argue. He didn't ask her to explain. Instead, he sat down on the low bench near the edge of the rooftop and gestured for her to do the same.
She hesitated, then joined him. The city buzzed faintly below, distant and muffled by the height.
"I liked today," she said finally. "Even the stupid games and greasy food."
"You were smiling a lot."
"Was I?" she asked, not looking at him.
"Yeah," he said. "And I don't think I've ever seen that many expressions on your face in one afternoon."
"Are you calling me emotionally constipated?"
"I'm calling you a mystery," he said, with an amused smirk.
She rolled her eyes, but didn't argue. Then, after a beat: "Did you mean what you said this morning?"
"Which part?"
"That I could be myself with you."
His smile faltered a little. "Yeah. I did."
She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. "What if I'm not sure who that is?"
"Then maybe you don't have to figure it out alone."
That silenced her. Not because it was too much, but because it was enough. More than enough.
"I think I like you best like this," he said.
She turned, confused. "Like what?"
"Quiet. Unarmed. Real."
Erin blinked. Her voice caught a little. "Then you'd hate me tomorrow."
"Why?"
She hesitated. Then forced a laugh. "Because I'm usually more annoying."
Xander didn't laugh. His gaze searched her face, quiet and unreadable again.
A cool breeze brushed past, lifting a few strands of her hair. He reached over and gently tucked one behind her ear, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. Her eyes flicked to his hand, but she didn't pull away.
"Xander?" she asked, voice low.
"Yeah?"
"If I said thank you… for today. For all of it. Would that ruin the moment?"
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "No. But I might ask you to say it again."
She laughed softly and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Don't get greedy."
He looked at her then, really looked, like she was something breakable and extraordinary at the same time. And maybe she was.
"Stay up here a little longer?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yeah. I think I need a few more minutes of forgetting."
They stayed like that as the last of the light disappeared—two people perched on the edge of a truth neither of them was ready to say.