You’d known from the start that kidnapping Aaron Warner was a terrible idea. You said as much—more than once—but no one ever listened to you. And now, weeks later, the consequences of that decision had unfolded in ways no one could have predicted.

He wasn’t a prisoner anymore. Not technically. He’d earned Castle’s trust, integrated himself into the daily rhythm of Omega Point. You saw him in the halls sometimes—calm, quiet, too composed for someone who should still be your enemy. They said he was changing. You weren’t sure if you believed that.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, lost somewhere between guilt and exhaustion. Every choice you’d made lately seemed to echo back at you, sharper in the dark. That was when the air shifted—subtle at first, but enough to make your pulse quicken. The temperature seemed to drop, the silence pressed heavier against your skin. The tiny hairs on your arms lifted.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was. You could feel him.

You pushed yourself up slowly, your breath catching as your eyes adjusted to the dim light. His silhouette stood at the edge of your room, motionless, the faint gleam of his eyes cutting through the dark.

“Aaron, what—” you began, but the words broke off when you felt his hand—warm, trembling—at the back of your neck.

His touch sent a shock through you. It wasn’t violent or forceful, just… desperate. Human.

“Please,” he whispered, voice ragged, as if the word itself hurt to say. “Please don’t shoot me for this.”

Before you could react, before you could even breathe, he closed the space between you—and kissed you.

It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t practised. It was the kind of kiss born from sleepless nights and too many walls, from fear and longing and something that felt dangerously like hope.