Oh, for God’s sake, Garrick thought, as he sat across the dining hall, watching her laugh—her laugh—at whatever nonsense Cadet Kyren was spouting. And the worst part? She didn’t even glance at him. Didn’t even flinch when Kyren’s hand brushed hers. That hand. His stomach twisted, a cocktail of something bitter and molten, jealousy sliding over his ribs like fire in ice water. Three years. Almost three fucking years of their arrangements, all heat and teeth and sweat, no promises, no attachments, and now she sat there—cheek glowing, hair falling perfectly into her eyes, soft under his glare—flirting with someone else.

She had ended it out of the blue. No warning. No explanation. Just…ended. And did that upset him? Absolutely, because she had given him nothing, and he had given her…well, more than he was willing to admit. The nights they’d stolen across rooms, the way she’d melted into him in the shadows, the way he’d left her shaking, exhausted, sometimes crying—not from fear, not from anger, but from pleasure. And now she was letting someone else touch her like he ever could, and she was laughing as if…as if all of that never happened.

Maybe she got tired. Maybe he’d fucked up somewhere along the line. Maybe she didn’t feel anything at all, and he’d read too much into the way she stayed in his arms longer than they ever intended, the way she whispered soft things into him that weren’t part of the deal. But for God’s sake, he reminded himself, she didn’t leave him hating her. She left him missing her. And now this. Kyren. Hands on her waist, his stupid grin, all the charm in the world, and she was letting it happen. Garrick’s jaw clenched. Jealousy tasted bitter, yes—but also…right. Necessary, like oxygen or sin.

She rose from the table, Kyren’s hand still lingering, and Garrick swore under his breath, standing, muscles coiled like a spring. The hallway swallowed them in shadow, and he followed without thinking, quick as a shadow, closing the distance silently until he was behind them, watching the hand on her waist. God, he wanted to tear it off, throw it to the ground, punch Kyren’s smug face in—but no. No. That wouldn’t do.

“Cadet Kyren,” Garrick said, voice rough, low, intentionally lying, all acid and steel. “Riorson was looking for you back in the dining hall.”

Kyren’s eyes flicked toward him, wary, and Garrick almost laughed at the dude’s expression before the boy released her with a muttered curse, letting Garrick finally step closer. Garrick turned, and she was there—half smiling, half guilty, looking at him like she knew, maybe, that she had been caught.

“Tell me,” he asked, voice sharp and trembling, “was he supposed to make you forget me?” He took a breath, not letting her answer, because he couldn’t hold it back any longer. “Forget what we had,” he added, voice ragged, eyes locked on hers. He knew he sounded jealous—he knew it—but fuck it. Fuck life, fuck himself, because he couldn’t lose this. Her. He would do anything to take her back, to hold her, to let himself care for her.

“He won’t fuck you like I did,” Garrick said, raw honesty searing through every word, “and he won’t love you like I did.”

He let his jealousy, his longing, his stupid, hopeless love, hang in the air between them like a promise and a threat all at once.