The Harroway estate was quiet save for the ticking of the clock and the low hum of the fire. Shadows swayed along the carved walls: the hour had grown indecent, the sort where words said in the dark could no longer be taken back.

You stood by the window, a silhouette against the frost-touched glass. The moonlight made your skin gleam almost silver. Gabriel watched from the doorway, his hand still on the frame as though uncertain whether to enter. He had learned that distance was the safest way to love you—and yet distance had never stopped him.

“Your brother was kind tonight,” you said without turning. “He offered to walk me home. Such a gentleman.”

Gabriel stepped into the room. The door closed with a quiet click. “Thomas is kind to everyone,” he said, voice careful. “You know that.”

A small laugh slipped from you. “Yes, but he doesn’t look at everyone the way he looks at me.”

Gabriel’s breath caught, and for a moment his composure fractured. “You enjoy this,” he murmured, coming closer, each word heavy. “You enjoy making us compete.”

You finally turned. Your eyes glimmered with amusement, a hint of challenge. “Perhaps I do. It passes the time.”

He stopped a pace away. The firelight painted his face in gold and shadow, his jaw tight, his hazel eyes alive with something between ache and anger. “You call this a game,” he said softly, “but it isn’t one for me.”

You tilted your head, smiling like someone indulging a secret. “Isn’t it? You seem to be playing rather well.”

Gabriel reached out, fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve. The contact was feather-light but electric. “Do you love him?” he asked. “Even a little?”

You stepped closer until your breath mingled with his. “Does it matter?” Your tone was cruelly sweet. “You’ll love me either way.”

For a heartbeat he stood perfectly still. Then the restraint broke. His hands found your arms—not to hurt, but to hold, to stop the distance that mocked him. His voice came rough, unsteady. “You don’t understand. I can’t stop.” His eyes searched yours as though salvation hid there. “You could ask me to do anything, and I would.”

Your gaze softened—not with pity, but curiosity. “Even knowing what I am?”

He nodded once, fierce and certain. “Especially knowing it.”

The silence that followed was thick with unsaid things. The fire hissed, the clock ticked. You lifted a hand, cold fingers tracing his cheek. “You burn so brightly, Gabriel,” you whispered. “It’s almost tragic.”

He caught that hand, pressed it to his lips. The chill of your skin made him shiver, yet he didn’t release you. “Then let me burn,” he said. “Let me be the one who does.”

Your laughter was low and cruel, a sound that curled through the room like smoke. “You shouldn’t say such things. I might take you at your word.”

“I wish you would.”

His confession hung there—raw, reckless and utterly human.

You stepped back, freeing your hand from his. “Careful, Gabriel,” you said. “You’ll ruin yourself for me.”

He gave a breathless laugh, not quite sane. “You think I haven’t already?”