The warehouse was too quiet. Dust hung in the air, and every tick of the overhead lights grated like static in your chest. You were already trembling, but you wouldn’t let him see it.

Then Jack walked in.

Alive. Real.

Like he hadn’t just disappeared off the face of the earth for months, like you hadn’t cried yourself sick thinking he was dead. His jacket was worn, his eyes tired—but that crooked grin was the same. It faltered the second he saw your face.

“Hey,” he said, soft.

You didn’t speak. Just stared.

“I know. I know I should’ve told you—”

“You faked your death.” Your voice cracked. “I thought you were dead, Jack.”

He looked down, jaw tight. “I wanted to tell you. I—I couldn’t. It was all part of—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘the plan.’” You stepped forward. “I’m not one of the Horsemen, Jack. I didn’t get a codeword. I just got silence.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. “I thought about you every day.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Your voice wavered. “Because I’m standing here and you’re standing there and all I can think is that you didn’t trust me enough to say goodbye.”

Jack stepped forward, gently, like you were glass on the verge of breaking. “It does matter. Because I’m here now. Because I’m sorry. Because I’d give anything to take back what I did to you.”

You looked at him—and it hit you. You’d waited so long for this. For answers. For closure. For something.

But instead, Jack Wilder kissed you.

Your first kiss.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t pretty. It was desperate and shaking and full of all the words he hadn’t said. Your hands clung to him before your mind even caught up, breath catching when you pulled away just enough to look at him.

“You… kissed me,” you whispered.

“I did,” Jack said, voice hoarse. “Because I couldn’t take it anymore. Not the space. Not the silence. Not you thinking I didn’t love you.”

You blinked, lips parted.

“And,” he added with a soft, almost breathless laugh, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since Vegas.”