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The rise and fall of her chest was steady, measured—almost perfectly in time with his own heartbeat.
Kai should have been asleep. It was three in the morning, and in a few hours he was supposed to sit across from the mayor and pretend he hadn’t rehearsed his zoning proposal in his head a dozen times already.
Cinder’s hand was wrapped around his, anchoring it over her chest as she slept. Her fingers were warm, sure, like she’d reached for him sometime in the night and never let go.
He didn’t dare move.
Sleep should have come easily, he was exhausted, but the quiet certainty of her grip made it impossible. Every breath she took reminded him that she was here, that this was real, and his brain stubbornly refused to shut off.
Beautiful.
The word surfaced uninvited, looping through his thoughts until he had to stop himself from smiling.
Adorable, too—her lips parted slightly in sleep, the faintest smile tugging at them. Cinder looked almost harmless like this, which was absurd, really. When she was awake, she was all sharp edges and sharper wit.
He loved that about her. He loved this, too.
Sleep had always been a rare feat for Cinder. Too often he’d woken to her gasping, slick with sweat, dragged back by nightmares she never fully spoke about. Seeing her rest now, peaceful, unguarded, felt like a small miracle. One she more than deserved.
An abrupt buzz of his phone sliced through the haze of his thoughts. Kai nearly cursed out loud, fumbling for it before the sound could repeat.
He shifted carefully, already swiping the call toward voicemail, but Cinder stirred anyway, rolling onto her side and pulling her hand away from his.
He winced.
With a quiet sigh, he slipped out of bed and padded into the living room, shutting the bedroom door behind him. Whatever this was, it could wait until he was far enough away not to steal her sleep with it.
The number didn’t have a name attached to it.
It was probably a scammer trying to wring his personal information out of him, or—less likely—an official with an urgent political crisis. The latter seemed doubtful, considering he was just a small local politician. For now, at least.
He answered anyway. The call immediately switched to FaceTime.
Brown hair. A floral button-up. The bright and shining sun reflected off something unmistakably tropical. Seagulls cried in the background, loud and sharp against the quiet hum of Kai’s apartment.
Thorne.
He’d known the guy for years. Long enough that this shouldn’t have surprised him. Kai rubbed at his eyes, then made a mental note—again—to actually save his number.
“Yooo, Spain’s the shit. Look at this view,” Thorne said, flipping the camera around.
All Kai saw were Thorne’s toes, pale against the blur of sand.
Kai huffed a quiet laugh, sinking into the couch. The leather was cool against his bare arm. “Do you have any idea what time it is in Vancouver right now?”
The camera snapped back to Thorne’s face. “Oh—shoot. I’m so sorry. You weren’t sleeping, were you?”
No. But he’d been very content five seconds ago when Cinder was holding his hand.
He didn’t say that. “How’s Cress?” he asked instead.
“Peachy. I think the vacation’s really helping her decompress from the new job.” Thorne’s attention drifted from the screen as he spoke, the camera jostling while he wandered toward something out of view.
“That’s good to hear.” Kai scratched the back of his head, gaze drifting toward the dark hallway that led back to their room.
“You know—” Thorne started, and then, for a moment, it seemed as if the world had exploded.
The smoke alarm shrieked, sharp and metallic, the sound punching straight through Kai’s chest. He yelped and lurched to his feet as a red light began to strobe across the walls.
“Jeez, Kai, what’s going on?”
“Low battery. It’s over.” The alarm wailed again and again, the words looping in a flat, mechanical voice.
“Kai?” Cinder’s voice carried down the hall, sleep-rough and confused.
“I’m going to have to call you back, Thorne.”
“Wait—”
He ended the call and was already moving.
When Kai re-entered the bedroom, he found Cinder sitting upright in bed, her gaze sharp even in the low light. The red strobe from the alarm washed over her face in harsh flashes, all angles and shadows.
Kai startled so badly he nearly yelped again—then stopped.
Her breathing was too fast. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, fingers digging into fabric like she was holding herself together.
Swallowing hard, dumbly, he said, “It’s the smoke alarm.”
“I know,” she replied, her voice shaky but thick with sleep.
He knew what the flame had once taken from her. Knew what it had left behind. Stars above, he knew the scars that marked her body better than anyone—had kissed them, traced them, learned them, and—
An Idiot. That’s what he was.
“I–I’m going to—”
“No,” Cinder cut in, suddenly alert.
Kai pressed his lips together.
“You were supposed to replace the battery a week ago, Kai.” Her fingers curled into the blanket.
Looking away, sheepish and guilty, he told himself he could handle it—had said it casually, confidently—because his wife was a mechanic and he refused to be the kind of man who couldn’t manage a screwdriver. She’d been swamped with back-to-back clients at the shop. Watching a tutorial had been on his list. So had the right batteries. It was plain and simple: Cinder had trusted him to take care of it, and he hadn’t.
What did happen was drafting the zoning proposal. Then the meeting. Then—
Cinder groaned and dragged the comforter over her head before shoving it aside and swinging her legs out of bed.
Now she was the one forcing herself out of bed. Great. So much for handling it.
The alarm raged in one-minute increments, repeating “it’s over”—a wildly dramatic thing for an alarm to say. Unfortunately, it wasn’t wrong.
“I’ll get the step ladder,” Kai said quickly.
Before she could argue, he was already scurrying out of the room.
By the time he returned, Cinder was standing on the bed, inspecting the alarm like she’d decided waiting was optional. She wore his boxers and his white button-down which was only partly buttoned and slipping off one shoulder. A faint red mark peeked out near the strap of her bra—evidence of a much better use of their time just hours earlier.
Cinder turned to look at him, her expression slowly settling back into its usual nonchalance, a sharp contrast to the tremble she’d been hiding just moments ago.
“Are you going to get on the ladder and help me,” she asked, “or what?”
Right. He was staring. And how could he not be? A sharp shake of his head cleared his thoughts. Enough ogling, time to fix the problem. Clearing his thought, he gently placed the ladder on the hardwood floor and climbed up. “I forgot the batteries, I’m sorry.”
She shushed him with a gentle peck on his lips. “It’s okay. I’m going to show you how to disable the alarm for now.”
Cinder took both his hands and placed them on the detector up on the ceiling. Her hand lingered on his for a beat too long, and their eyes met. The energy between them was charged. He loved that, even after three years of marriage, absolutely nothing had changed.
A faint smirk crept onto his lips, and Cinder immediately withdrew her hands, flushed. “Okay, so… it’s really simple. Just push down lightly, twist, then pull.”
He started twisting clockwise.
“No, the other way.” He switched then pulled. Finally—just finally—the alarm came to a stop.
“Thank the stars,” he muttered under his breath as the device dangled from the ceiling, coloured wires peeking out from between the detector and the ceiling.
“Whatever you do, don’t pull the red wire,” Cinder suddenly declared.
“What happens if I pull the red wire?” he asked, quizzical, meeting her gaze.
“There’s a good chance the entire house will burst into flames,” she shrugged. Horror registered on his face, eyes wide, fingers hovering nervously above the wires. Then she giggled and Kai let out a sigh of relief.
“Not funny, Cinder.”
“It’s too easy with you!”
Cinder plopped backward onto the bed, tossing the pillows aside like she owned the space, which she did. With him.
Kai stepped down from the ladder, brushing imaginary dust off his hands, then crawled after her with mock drama, settling himself on top of her and wrapping his arms around her.
“You know,” he murmured to her neck, voice low, “I risked life and limb for this alarm.”
Cinder groaned under his weight, but the corner of her mouth quirked. “I’ll keep that in mind when I ask you to replace the batteries next time.”
Her eyes drifted toward the moonlight spilling in through the window. He followed her gaze with a soft exhale.
“You okay?” he asked, worry threading through the quiet.
“It was a long time ago, Kai,” she said, fingers brushing along his back, lazy but steady.
“Still,” he pressed, voice hushed. “I owe you the biggest apology.”
She hummed, letting her fingers linger. “Maybe there’s a way you can pay me back…”
Before he could respond, she pushed him gently off, and they shifted to face each other, bodies still entwined on the bed.
“Anything,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips, hand resting lightly on her waist.
“Kiss me.”
And he did, without hesitation. Her hand rose to his cheek, slow and deliberate, the kind of tender movement that comes after long days and long nights. When they pulled apart, foreheads touched, eyes closing, and the weight of the day melted away.
Laughter, murmurs, and soft sighs faded into the quiet of the moonlit room, until the two of them drifted into a peaceful, blissful sleep.