Page 160 of Stay Scared

The possessiveness in his voice sends heat straight through me.

I pull the mask up just enough to uncover my mouth. “It still is.”

His eyes flash.

I bite his lower lip. “Right now, I’m wearing it.”

Something finally snaps. Ash’s mouth crashes into mine. His hand moves harder between my thighs while the other locks around my waist and drags me against him. The mask slips from my hand and disappears among the scattered pages, forgotten by us both. My hand catches the table as his fingers change angle. My body reacts before I can speak. Ash notices. Of course he does. He repeats it. The next movement breaks my rhythm completely.

I grab his shirt. “Ash.”

His eyes lift. The look is enough. His hand keeps moving. The table scrapes across the stage with every shift of my hips. My palms crush whatever pages remain beneath them, and ink transfers faintly against my skin. Ash’s forehead comes against mine. There is no Voice, no mask, and no rehearsed line. His breathing breaks with mine. Release hits hard enough that my fingers seize in the fabric of his shirt. Ash holds my waist and keeps his hand exactly where it needs to be until my body stops shaking. Only then does he slow. I turn my face into his shoulder. His mouth touches my hair. Nothing poetic comes out of him. Thank God.

Owen’s voice reaches us through the open passage. “The plotter is almost finished. Mark’s position is unchanged. Evan’s beacon remains steady.”

The room comes back around us. Ash withdraws his hand and steps away. I close my jeans. My legs take another second. He retrieves my jacket without asking. I hold out one arm. Ash comes close and guides the fabric around my injured shoulder without dragging it across the bruise. The gesture is careful. Hunger stays plain on his face, as if he would put me back on the table the second the rest of the building stopped existing.

I pull the jacket closed. “Do not look at me like that when Cade is ten feet away.”

Ash glances toward the open passage. “I was not concerned about Cade.”

“That is obvious.”

His mouth almost moves. The old mask lies on the floor among the papers. I bend and pick it up. Ash watches.

“You want it back.”

His answer takes too long. “I want to see what you do with it.”

I hook the strap through my belt.

His expression hardens. “You are keeping it.”

“For now.”

Ash steps closer. His hand catches the strap before I can move away. The mask hangs between us.

“You enjoy taking things from me.”

“I enjoy finding out which things you can survive losing.”

His grip tightens around the strap. I look at his hand. Ash releases it. The plotter stops behind the curtain. A final brass pin rises with a metallic snap. The mood breaks cleanly. Ash crosses to the mechanism. Owen enters carrying the theater map. Cade rises behind him, one hand pressed against his injured ribs.

“Mark moved his freed hand to the chair release,” Owen says. “He remains upright. Evan’s beacon has not changed.”

Cade looks toward the plotter. “What’d it find?”

Ash rotates the completed drum. A mechanical route appears across the paper. One brass path connects the stage trap, the projection stairs, and the manual counterweight housing.

Ash traces it with one finger. “The purge controls the electronic release. The original counterweight brake is mechanically separate.”

“Where?” I ask.

Ash points lower. “Behind the mirror maze.”

Owen aligns the plotted route with the pre-renovation park plan. A service track runs from the maze to the stage. It never made it into the newer maps.

Cade studies the path. “Rook’s guarding the aisles because he thinks we need them.”