You haven’t seen Rafe Salvatore in weeks—not since your parents found out. Not since the screaming match in your kitchen or the silence that followed. You told yourself it was over. That whatever was between you and Rafe had to be buried, like everything else tied to your families’ war.

But then, tonight—under strings of lights and the hum of distant music—you see him again.

He shouldn’t be here. He promised he wouldn’t be.

But there he is.

Same messy curls. Same worn black jacket. Same look in his eyes that always makes you forget how to breathe.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, a few feet away, like he’s trying to figure out if you’ll run. Like he’s hoping you won’t.

Then, softly:

“Tell me you don’t miss me. Say it, and I’ll go.”

And suddenly, it’s not just winter around you. It’s every memory. Every stolen moment. Every almost-kiss and shared silence. It’s Rafe.