The afternoon sun dipped low when Xander entered the room, his expression unreadable as usual.
"You're free," he said without preamble.
Erin looked up from the bed, blinking. "What?"
"The doctor said the hangover's worn off. You can move around now." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "So congratulations. You're no longer bedridden."
"Finally," she muttered, stretching slowly as if aching to get up — though truthfully, her mind hadn't stopped returning to those scribbled words she found hours ago. There's no prison greater than duty. They echoed like a drumbeat in the back of her head. The fact that he had written them — that Xander felt caged — had rattled something loose in her.
Did he really want out? Did he want nothing to do with his family's cruelty?
And if that was true… was he trying to expose them too?
Her chest tightened slightly as she brushed the thought away. No. Focus. She couldn't afford to soften now — not when she was so close.
Later that evening, she stood alone in the kitchen, swirling a half glass of soft plum wine. It wasn't strong, nothing like what they'd drunk at the celebration. But it was smooth, calming… enough to make the noise in her mind blur.
"You really don't learn, do you?" came Xander's voice from behind her.
Erin flinched slightly and turned. He was already by the counter, eyeing the glass in her hand with disapproval.
"It's barely wine," she said, trying to sound casual.
"You just told me this morning that you can't handle alcohol," he retorted. "And now you're here casually poisoning your bloodstream?"
"I just want to sleep."
"There are better ways to do that," he said, taking the glass from her and pouring it out in the sink. "My version of sleep doesn't involve soft suicide. It's simple. You lie in bed. You close your eyes. You let the damn sleep come to you."
She scoffed. "Spoken like a true insomniac."
His brow lifted slightly. "Is that sarcasm?"
"Obviously." She rolled her eyes. "You look like someone who hasn't slept properly since childhood. I'm surprised you haven't turned into a vampire."
A short silence followed — the type that grew heavy without permission. She turned away, pretending to look for a cup in the cabinet, but she could feel it — his eyes boring into her. Not in anger. Not even in amusement.
He was watching her. Intently. Deeply. Almost… lost in thought.
"What?" she said, glancing over her shoulder. "That's not the only thing you wanted to ask, is it?"
Xander didn't blink. "No," he admitted. "It's not."
There was a shift in the air, subtle but inescapable.
"I have a better question," he said, stepping closer. His voice was quiet, nearly pained. "Who are you? Really?"
His words hit like a punch to the ribs. There was no playfulness in them. No teasing. Just raw confusion… and something else. Desperation.
Erin's breath caught. "Isn't that for you to find out?" she whispered. "If you care enough."
"I do care," he said without hesitation. "And I will find out."
"Then try me," she said, her voice barely audible.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Their eyes locked — not in anger, not in suspicion — but in something they could no longer deny. Months of tension, arguments, long stares, and near-misses bubbled to the surface like a wave finally crashing.
Xander stepped forward. She didn't move.
One more step. Still, she didn't move.
And then — the kiss.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't meant to be.
It was desperate. Fierce. Like two people trying to steal time from the universe before everything crashed down around them.
His hand found her waist, pulling her flush against him. She clutched at his shirt, unsure whether to push or pull. The kitchen blurred around them — there was only the feel of his lips, the way he kissed her like he couldn't get enough, the way she responded like she'd been waiting for this and hating that she wanted it.
He lifted her effortlessly onto the counter, hands braced on either side of her, deepening the kiss. She gasped into him — her mind a mess of panic, heat, and something dangerously close to longing.
Then his hand slipped beneath the hem of her pajama top, fingers brushing against bare skin, hot and possessive.
That's when it hit her.
Reality. Control. Purpose.
She jerked back, breathless.
"Stop," she whispered, voice trembling.
Xander froze. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his pupils still blown wide from the moment. But his hands dropped, and he stepped back.
Erin slid off the counter in one quick motion and bolted out of the kitchen, her heart pounding like it wanted to escape her chest.
Up the stairs. Down the hall. Into her room.
She shut the door behind her, pressing her back to it and sliding down until she hit the floor.
She hadn't just crossed a line.
She'd leapt across it.
And she didn't know how to take it back.
She locked the door behind her, even though she knew he wouldn't come after her.
Her hands were still trembling. Her lips still tingled with the memory. Her skin burned where he had touched her — not out of shame, but out of the terrifying truth that she had wanted it too.
She let out a long, uneven breath and paced the room, her arms hugging her own body like they could protect her from what had just happened.
What was that?
She had kissed him back. That part wasn't even up for debate. She hadn't just allowed it — she had wanted more. But how could she? After everything she knew, everything she stood for? After everything he represented?
Her fists clenched at her sides. "Get a grip," she muttered to herself, stepping to the small vanity table and catching sight of her flushed reflection. She looked… undone. Not just by the kiss, but by the possibility behind it.
"This is exactly what you warned yourself about," she whispered, shaking her head. "You're here for a reason. Not for him. Not for this."
She reached for the chain around her neck — the small charm she wore as a reminder of what she'd lost. Her fingers curled around it tightly. It didn't shine the way it used to. Nothing did. Not after the fire. Not after her family. Not after the lies.
And yet… here she was, kissing the son of the very monsters she'd sworn to take down.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
As soon as she was out of his sight — out of this house — she'd contact the others. Talia. Malik. Juno. They'd been waiting for her signal. Their families had suffered too. They were in this together.
She just needed to remember why.
Because no matter what she'd just felt…
He was still a Volkov.