They were running.

Past the spinning rides, past the screaming kids, past the confused bodyguard yelling his name into a walkie-talkie.

He didn’t care.

Her hand was in his. Her laughter was wild. And for the first time in his life—he wasn’t being watched. He was living.

“Faster!” he yelled over the music, grinning like an idiot, nearly tripping over a dropped churro.

Lights blurred. People shouted. Cameras flashed somewhere in the distance.

“I think I’m in love with this night,” he gasp-yelled in the mid-run, tightening his grip on her hand—then looked at her with that breathless smile slowing down once they were in clear and stopping.

“Actually... no. You. Definitely you.”