Page 316 of Wild Card 13

Lucy turned down a quieter corridor that ran behind the administrative offices. The hallway was empty, lit by long strips of fluorescent light, with framed photos of old Frosthawks teams lining the wall. It was not romantic.

She stopped beside a photo of the 2012 roster and turned on me. “You are terrible at this.”

“I moved you out of the way of a case.”

“You held my waist.”

“It was an emergency.”

“It was a rolling equipment case, not a meteor.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Her expression shifted. The lecture softened at the edges. “I’m not mad. I just…” She looked past me, toward the main corridor. “We are very bad at being normal.”

“We were never that good at it.”

Her mouth twitched. “True.”

“I’ll do better.”

“I know you will.”

Lucy stepped closer. Enough that I could smell her perfume under the arena coffee and cold air. “I’m also bad at it,” she admitted.

“You are?”

“I blushed through that entire meeting.”

“It was cute.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do not call me cute in the workplace.”

“After hours?”

“We’ll discuss it.”

“That sounds promising.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“I missed pushing it.”

For a second, the hallway disappeared, and it was just us at eighteen. Us before everything broke. Us after it, too. Older now. More careful. Still somehow the same where it mattered.

Lucy’s gaze dropped to my mouth.

There were rules. No touching. No nicknames. No making this everyone’s business before it had a chance to become ours.

I knew all of them.

I respected all of them.

And still, when Lucy looked at me like that, I stepped closer.

She did not step back.

“Luce,” I said quietly.