Aaron Warner didn’t believe in fate, but seeing you again—stronger, colder, different—felt like the universe’s cruelest joke.

“You came back.” His voice was quieter than he intended.

You didn’t move. “I didn’t come back.”

Something inside him cracked.

Of course you hadn’t.

You had torn yourself away like it hadn’t shattered you both. He had spent months convincing himself you weren’t coming back, yet some desperate part of him had still hoped.

Forcing a smirk, he exhaled slowly, masking how hard it was to breathe. “Then why are you here?”

Silence.

You hesitated, and Warner clung to it like a dying man grasping his last breath.

“I needed to talk to you.” Your voice was steady, but he knew you too well.

He memorized every detail—the tension in your jaw, the fists at your sides, the way you avoided his eyes. You weren’t as unaffected as you pretended to be.

But it wasn’t enough.

Warner let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You needed to talk.”

Silence.

He hated this. Hated the space between you, the careful distance, the way you once saw something good in him—now, you could barely look at him at all.

Warner exhaled, his mask slipping. “You left,” he said, voice raw. “And now you’re here, pretending like none of it ever happened.”

Something flickered in your eyes. The slightest crack in your armor.

And that was all it took for his restraint to snap.

He stepped closer, his voice breaking. “I would’ve burned the world down for you.” A breath. A bitter laugh. “And you still left.”

He saw your breath hitch, your fingers twitch—like you wanted to reach for him. And God, he wanted you to.

Aaron shook his head, his resolve crumbling entirely. “What’s the point of ruling the world if you’re not in it?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Tell me. Because I still haven’t figured it out.”