Page 18 of Steel's Secret
FIVE
THE LOCK-IN
STEEL
The wind is still screaming, but inside the shop it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that presses on your chest until you can’t tell if it’s the storm or your own heartbeat, that’s making the walls shake.
Aria sits near the heater, knees tucked in, firelight turning her hair to molten bronze. The air hums with everything we didn’t say. The storm outside doesn’t sound so loud when she’s in the room. It’s the thick, heavy silence between us that’s worse.
She looks like she belongs here and doesn’t, all at once. Like a memory I keep trying to scrub off my skin that won’t fade.
I lean back against the workbench, arms folded, watching her watch the flames. The smell of oil and her perfume hit like an old song I can’t stop playing.
“I missed you.”Her words hang in the air, refusing to die.
I want to answer, but what the hell am I supposed to say? I missed her, too? That I still wake up expecting her hand on my chest, still drive past the courthouse every week like a goddamn fool, hoping I’ll see her car?
Instead, I say nothing. Presidents don’t say shit that soft.
The lamp flickers. I shift my weight, grab the rag off the bench just to have something to do with my hands.
She glances up. “You’re thinking too loud.”
I huff out a laugh. “You always did hate silence.”
“Only when it’s full of ghosts.”
The words hit harder than they should. “You brought your share of those, too, counselor.”
Her lips twitch. “Guess we’re even then.”
Lightning flashes outside, the storm throwing white fire through the windows. For a second, her reflection glows against the glass, soft, alive, untouchable.
I move closer before I even realize it. Just a step, then another. The air thickens with heat and static, the storm growling low against the walls.
“You really shouldn’t be here,” I say quietly.
Her eyes lift, steady on mine. “You already said that.”
“Didn’t mean it the first time.” Her breath catches. That sound is enough to wreck me.
I stop when there’s barely a foot between us. Close enough to feel her warmth through the cold, close enough to smell the faint trace of coffee and rain still clinging to her coat.
“Steel…” She starts, voice breaking.
I shake my head. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make me remember what it felt like.”
She swallows hard. “You never forgot.”
That does it. I reach out before I can stop myself. My hand finds the edge of her jaw, thumb brushing a streak of soot from her cheek. Her skin’s warm against my palm, too soft for the life I lead.
For a second, she leans into it. Then she exhales, shaky, like she’s afraid the breath itself will shatter us.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” she whispers.
