Chapter 22 22
Julian’s POV
She held my gaze like she wasn’t going to let me escape this time, like every half-answer I had given her had finally run out of space to hide.
I let out a quiet breath, slower than I felt, pushing my hands into my pockets just to keep them still. There were a hundred ways to answer that question and none of them would end well, not for her, not for me, not for anything that had already started to spiral beyond control. Saying it out loud would change things, would make it real in a way I couldn’t take back, and I wasn’t ready to watch that happen—not yet.
“I don’t want you asking for the finished version after I'm done,” I said finally.
Her brows pulled together for a second, then she let out a short laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Shaking her head lightly. “You really know how to dodge something, why aren't you proud of your paintings.”
“It’s not dodging.”
“It is,” she said, though her tone had softened just slightly. “But fine.” She lifted her hands in a small gesture of surrender, stepping past me toward the small kitchen space like she was done pushing for now. “Keep your drawings. I’m too tired to fight you on it anyway.”
I watched her move, something in my chest tightening in a way that didn’t sit right. This wasn’t over, not even close, but she had chosen to step away from it for the moment, and part of me knew that was worse than her arguing.
“I’m hungry,” she added over her shoulder, opening one of the cabinets without asking. “Do you have anything edible in here or do you survive on air and bad decisions?”
Despite everything, the corner of my mouth almost lifted. “There’s food.”
“Good,” she muttered, scanning through what was there before closing it again. “Then make me eggs.”
I raised a brow slightly. “That wasn’t a request.”
“Did it sound like one?” she shot back, glancing at me briefly.
“No.”
“Then we’re on the same page.”
I shook my head lightly and moved past her, grabbing what I needed without making a point of it. The normalcy of it felt strange in contrast to everything else, like stepping into something almost ordinary when nothing about today had been anything close to that.
She leaned against the counter behind me, quiet for a moment, and I could feel her eyes on me again even without turning. Not questioning this time. Not pushing. Just there.
“You cook?” she asked after a few seconds.
“Something like that.”
“Hm.” She shifted slightly, folding her arms. “Didn’t picture you doing something this normal.”
“I do a lot of things you don’t picture.”
“I’m starting to notice that.”
There was something lighter in her voice now, not careless, but not weighed down either. A pause before the next storm, maybe.
The pan heated quickly, the soft crack of eggs breaking into it filling the silence between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just different, like both of us were aware that everything had changed and neither of us knew exactly where to place it yet.
The clatter echoed against the walls, sudden and jarring, and before I could even register what had caused it, she flinched hard behind me.
Not a small reaction.
Not normal.
Her hands flew up to her ears instantly, her entire body tensing like the sound had hit her physically instead of just being heard.
I turned immediately. “Kimberly—”
Her face had changed.
“It’s fine,” she said quickly, but her voice didn’t match it. She pressed her hands tighter against her ears, her eyes squeezed shut for a second before opening again, confusion flickering through them. “It’s just loud.”
She dropped her hands slowly, but something was off. I could see it in the way she held herself, the slight tension that hadn’t left her shoulders, the way her breathing hadn’t settled properly yet.
Then her expression shifted again. Her hand moved to her wrist.
The mark. A quiet sound slipped from her, not loud, but enough to make my chest tighten. “What is that—”
Her fingers pressed against the mark instinctively, and her face twisted slightly, the discomfort clear now, no longer something she could brush off.
I crossed the distance between us in a second. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just—” She stopped, her breath hitching slightly as the pain seemed to spike. “It hurts.”
My gaze dropped to her wrist, to the mark that had no right reacting like this, not this soon, not like this. My jaw tightened as I reached for her hand, more careful this time, my fingers hovering for a second before touching her skin.
A sharp pull, stronger than before, like something had been triggered without warning. Her breath caught again, her grip tightening around my arm without thinking, and I felt it—every shift, every flicker, every unstable edge of whatever this connection had become.
“This isn’t supposed to happen,” I muttered under my breath.
“What isn’t?” she asked, her voice thinner now.
I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t have one that wouldn’t make this worse.
Her balance shifted suddenly, her weight leaning into me more than it should have. I tightened my hold on her instinctively, steadying her before she could slip.
“Hey,” I called, sharper this time. “Stay with me.”
“I am,” she said, but the words came out slower, her focus slipping in a way I didn’t like. “I just feel… weird.”
Her grip on me loosened slightly.
“Kimberly.”
The dizziness hit her fully this time. I saw it in the way her eyes struggled to focus, the way her body swayed despite my hold keeping her upright.
Her body went slack. I caught her before she could fall.
Just the immediate realization that something had gone wrong faster than I could track.
“Kimberly.” Her name came out lower this time, something closer to a warning that had no place to go.
She didn’t respond. Her head rested against my shoulder, her breathing ste
ady but unconscious, her hand still loosely curled against my shirt like she hadn’t meant to let go.