The blackout happened without warning.
One moment, Lena's apartment was glowing with city light and phone screens.
The next, everything went dark.
"Seriously?" Lena muttered. "Is this part of the scandal package?"
Outside, the city groaned—sirens cutting off mid-wail, traffic noises dissolving into confusion. Somewhere down the block, someone shouted.
"This isn't human infrastructure failure," Asher said.
Lena turned toward his voice. "That's comforting. In a terrifying way."
The darkness felt wrong. Too heavy. Like it pressed against her skin.
"Asher?" she said.
"I'm here."
His voice was closer than she expected.
Too close.
She inhaled sharply, suddenly aware of the narrow space between them, of heat where there shouldn't have been any.
"What caused this?" she asked.
"Resistance," Asher replied. "You disrupted momentum."
She snorted softly. "By not crying?"
"Yes."
She shifted her weight—and her hand brushed his.
It was brief. Accidental.
But Asher froze.
The air snapped, electric, like static before a storm.
"Don't," he said quietly.
Lena's heart kicked hard against her ribs. "Don't what?"
"Move."
She raised an eyebrow, though she knew he could barely see it. "You're the one standing in my space."
"I was here first."
"In my apartment."
"Yes."
A pause.
"You nervous?" she asked lightly.
Silence.
Then—just barely—his breath stuttered.
Lena smiled into the dark.
"Asher," she said softly, "are you nervous?"
"You're playing with fire," he warned.
Her voice dropped. "You're from Hell. Isn't that your thing?"
She moved—not away, but closer.
This time, when her fingers brushed his wrist, it wasn't an accident.
Asher caught her hand instantly.
His grip was firm. Controlled.
But she felt it—the hesitation beneath it.
The struggle.
"Careful," she murmured. "That's rule three."
His thumb tightened against her skin.
"I know," he said, voice low. "That's why this stops now."
He released her hand and stepped back.
The distance felt sudden. Sharp.
A heartbeat later, the lights flickered back on.
Lena blinked, her pulse still racing.
Asher stood across the room, jaw clenched, eyes dark with something dangerously close to restraint.
"That blackout," she said slowly, "that was because of me, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"Because I'm not doing what they want."
"Because you're changing the pattern," he corrected.
She met his gaze. "And you?"
His eyes dropped—to her hand—then back up.
"I'm trying not to."
Lena smiled. Not teasing. Not playful.
Challenging.
"Good luck with that," she said.
Asher didn't smile back.
Fire wasn't supposed to feel like this.
And Hell—
Was starting to lose control