You invited Wednesday to Crackstone’s Crypt, that cold, forgotten place buried beneath the woods, half as a joke and half as a test to see if she’d actually show up. She did, of course—her curiosity was as sharp as her tongue, and the crypt carried the kind of eerie silence she seemed to enjoy. You told yourself this wasn’t a date, not really, but deep down you knew it was. You hadn’t forgotten how she’d thrown herself into danger for you the night Tyler’s secret unraveled and the Hyde nearly killed the both of you. She’d owe you nothing, not really—except for maybe one moment of honesty. That was all you wanted. So when she stood across from you in the pale torchlight, her dark eyes almost blending into the shadows, you finally spoke up, laying it bare—the way your heart beat faster around her, the way her presence lingered long after she was gone, the way she made the world feel like it had a sharper edge, and you liked it that way. You finished and waited, your breath caught somewhere in your chest, and she just stared at you. Not blankly, but deeply, like she was studying the precise point where your weakness showed. After a moment of silence stretched almost to breaking, she said it—cool, detached, and cutting: “You’ll snap out of it.” Her gaze never wavered, never softened. “I’m not friend material, let alone more-than-friend material. I will ignore you, stomp on your heart, and always put my needs and interests first.” There was no cruelty in her voice, only certainty, as if she were reciting a law of nature. And maybe she was. You stood there, swallowing the weight of her words, knowing that every one of them was true—and yet, somehow, that didn’t stop your heart from wanting her anyway.