THE FIRST TIME HE SMILED

The morning sun filtered gently through the tall windows of the Valeria mansion, casting gold patterns across Emma's cheeks as she turned in her sleep.

In the warmth of her dream, Jake stood at her door with his usual calm expression—but this time, he smiled. Not the closed-off, forced politeness he wore for most of the world, but a real one. Soft. Quiet. Like it belonged to the boy he might have been before all the pain. His fingers laced through hers. "I came to pick you up," he said. "You didn't think I'd let you walk into training alone, did you?"

Her heart fluttered, warmth blooming in her chest. But just as she opened her mouth to speak—

Riiinnggg… Riiinnggg… Riiinnggg.

Emma jerked awake, breath catching. Her phone screamed beside her, the vibration sharp and desperate.

27 missed calls from Jake.

10 from Lila.

Her chest tightened. "Oh no—what time is it?" she muttered, scrambling out of bed with tangled hair and a sleep-creased cheek.

And then—

Ding-dong.

She froze. The doorbell.

Barefoot, wearing an oversized T-shirt and mismatched pajama shorts, Emma rushed to the door, yanking it open.

Jake stood there. His expression unreadable for a second—then he smiled.

A real smile. Exactly like the one from her dream. Except this one reached his eyes.

She blinked, stunned.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said, hoisting up her suitcase like it weighed nothing. "You forgot we're leaving today, didn't you?"

Emma flushed. "I—I haven't packed."

Jake looked her up and down—at her wild bedhead, sleepy eyes, bare legs—and the smile deepened. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away, trying (and failing) not to laugh.

"I kind of guessed."

Inside, chaos ensued.

Emma flew from closet to drawer, grabbing things she barely remembered owning while Jake sat cross-legged on the floor, folding her clothes more neatly than she ever had. At one point, she tripped over a pair of socks, landing with a squeak. Jake caught her wrist mid-fall.

"Don't die before we even get to the bus," he murmured with a grin.

Emma rolled her eyes. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"I've never seen someone pack like a tornado before. It's impressive."

Between the scattered clothes, laughter, and shared glances, the atmosphere felt... easy. Real.

And just as Emma grabbed her makeup pouch, she caught the smell.

Food?

She turned around slowly.

"I made breakfast," Jake said casually, like it was no big deal. "Didn't think you'd be in a state to cook anything edible."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "You cooked?"

Jake stood by the small kitchen counter, stirring something with surprising ease. "Relax. It's just noodles. And sausages. No mushrooms."

Her heart stopped.

"No mushrooms?" she asked softly.

He didn't look up, but his tone was quiet. "I noticed. You always push them aside during lunch. I figured... you're allergic."

Emma stared, stunned. He had noticed?

He handed her a plate—steaming noodles glistening with sesame, golden-browned sausages perfectly fried on the side. "I added some extra spice. You always add that red chili oil from the corner of your tray."

She blinked back a sudden rush of emotion. "Okay, this is suspiciously good. How many girls have you cooked for, exactly?"

Jake's brows rose. "None."

Emma blinked. "Seriously?"

He smirked, but there was something honest in his voice. "I've only ever cooked for myself. You're the first person I've ever made food for."

She looked at the plate in her hands, her throat tightening.

"Don't get all teary on me now," Jake said quickly, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just breakfast."

Emma gave a watery laugh. "It's the best breakfast I've ever had."

They sat at the small dining table, plates clinking gently, stealing glances at each other between bites.

"Guess I'll start a food truck," Jake said after a moment, looking sideways at her.

She raised a brow. "With a menu of two items?"

"Well," he leaned closer, "maybe you can be my taste-tester. Forever."

Her cheeks flamed, and for a moment, all she could do was smile down at her plate.

By the time they left the mansion, the sun had climbed higher, casting a warm hue across the streets. Emma wore a pale-blue frock with flutter sleeves, the fabric soft and light as it swayed around her knees. Her hair was patterned into a delicate twist down her back, wisps framing her face like something from a dream.

Jake froze when he saw her outside.

His breath caught.

She was beautiful. Not just in the way people talked about beauty—but something quiet and delicate and real. Like sunlight on water. Like the first page of a favorite book.

His chest tightened. How is it that every time I think I've figured her out, she turns into something even more impossible?

Emma tilted her head. "What?"

"You…" Jake cleared his throat. "You look good. Really good."

Emma laughed softly. "You've seen me in my worst bedhead and still say that?"

He gave a slow nod. "That's when it hit me. You're the kind of beautiful that doesn't need fixing."

She looked away, flustered, but her smile stayed.

At the bus stop, Emma sat on one of the benches while Jake went to get the tickets. A girl with sleek hair and a red campus badge sat next to her, smiling politely.

Emma offered a small smile back, but her eyes kept flicking toward the line where Jake stood.

When he turned and saw them sitting together, a flicker of something passed over his face.

He returned a minute later, holding two tickets. "Sorry, could we switch seats?" he asked the girl calmly.

The girl blinked, then shrugged. "Sure."

Emma's heart fluttered as Jake slid into the seat beside her. Their shoulders brushed.

She didn't speak—but the silence said everything.

Jake leaned down slightly. "Let's leave the stress behind for now, okay? No more thinking about secrets or shadows. Let's enjoy the training. I'll help you with everything."

Emma nodded slowly. "Thank you, Jake."

As the bus pulled out of the station, Emma rested her head against the glass. The vibration made it impossible to sleep. She shifted, restless.

Jake noticed.

Without a word, he pulled out his earphones, reached over, and gently plugged them into her ears. A soft instrumental melody played, one he'd picked just for her.

Then, with a tentative motion, he tilted her head until it rested on his shoulder.

Emma stiffened for a moment. Then melted.

The world outside blurred into a dreamy haze of motion and sound. She could feel his heartbeat under her cheek, steady and warm.

She closed her eyes.

And for the first time in weeks, the storm inside her quieted.

End of Part 14