CHAPTER THREE: Don’t Touch Me (Do It Again)

"I didn't want to be touched. So why did I lean into it?"

The rain had stopped, but Liora still felt soaked in it.

Aeloria's skyline glittered above her, distant and indifferent, as she stepped back into the rooftop lounge. The summer heat had returned with a vengeance, steaming off the pavement, but it did little to thaw the frost coiled in her chest.

She wore the same uniform as always, black tank, slim-cut slacks, and a name tag that read "Lio." But nothing about her felt like it still fit. The fabric clung too tight, the air too thin, the city too loud. And the skin just below her collarbone still tingled, a phantom heat that refused to die down.

The crescent mark wasn't glowing anymore.

But it remembered.

So did she.

Talia was already at the bar when Liora slipped past the velvet ropes and into the polished glass-and-gold space. The club had reopened barely hours after the blackout, claiming "technical issues" with a bright smile and discounted cocktails. But Liora didn't feel discounted. She felt like someone had marked her up for a price she didn't understand.

"Damn, you're pale," Talia said the moment she spotted her. "Well, pale for you. That dream hit you harder than the tequila shots."

Liora managed a breath that was almost a laugh.

"Don't," she said, tying her apron. "I'm fine."

"You're lying."

"I'm still fine."

"You haven't blinked in, like, a full minute."

Liora forced her eyes to flutter. "Happy now?"

Talia narrowed her gaze but didn't push. She just handed her a tray of empty glasses. "Table twelve's flirting with the idea of sobriety. Go crush their hope."

Liora gave her a grateful nod and turned, but the laughter lingering in her friend's voice faded the moment she was gone. She felt it like a pull — Talia's eyes on her back, not with suspicion, but worry. And Liora hated that most of all.

She hated being seen.

Especially now.

Especially when she couldn't stop seeing him.

Kael.

His name lived at the base of her throat, unsaid but constant, like a bruise she kept pressing just to be sure it was still there.

She crossed the floor with practiced grace, weaving through sweaty bodies, glass reflections, and music that pounded like a second heartbeat. But inside, her balance teetered. Every shadow looked like it might step forward. Every low voice might shape his name. Every face for a split second might be his.

But none were.

And that should've been comforting.

It wasn't.

By the time she reached the bar again, her hands were trembling. She wiped them on her apron, but it didn't help. Nothing did.

She tried not to think of the battlefield.

Tried not to remember the silver blade, the blood on his armor, the way his eyes had pleaded in that dream like she was the only thing left worth saving — or destroying.

"My ruin… you came back."

Her breath caught again. She hadn't even realized she was holding it. Her body was betraying her. Or maybe it remembered something her mind refused to.

She reached for a shaker, missed it. It clattered against the counter, ice scattering like broken thoughts.

"Lio?" Talia called.

"I got it," she said too fast. "Just... not enough caffeine. Or too much."

Her lie barely held. The customers didn't care, but Talia did. Liora could feel her friend's stare — sharp, concerned, loaded.

She ignored it.

Threw herself into the rhythm of service. Pour. Shake. Serve. Smile.

Mechanical. Perfect. Empty.

But her hands never stopped shaking. Not really. And every time she touched a glass, she half-expected a flicker of flame. A scream. A sword's edge. Something to remind her that she wasn't just tired — she was unraveling.

And still, she kept scanning the room.

Her eyes returned to the far corner where he had stood that night. Where the lights had flickered. Where the words had burned their way into her.

"Found you… again."

She squeezed the rim of the shaker too hard. It slipped. Bounced. Caught just before it rolled off the bar.

"Lio," Talia whispered beside her. "You're scaring me."

Liora didn't answer. Couldn't.

Because the thing that scared her most wasn't the name.

It was the want that came with it.

A hunger she couldn't explain — sharp as a memory, soft as a prayer.

She hated it.

But she was waiting for it, too.

The sun was gone, but the sky wasn't dark. It held that strange bruised color between dusk and neon, the kind of light that made everything feel like a dream.

Peak hour.

The rooftop swelled with sound — bass heavy enough to pulse through the soles of her shoes, voices echoing like static in her skull. Liora moved on autopilot, smiling just enough, speaking just enough, skin crawling with the aftershock of the dream still clinging to her ribs like smoke.

Then she felt it.

That hum.

That pressure.

A subtle shift in the air, like gravity bending slightly in the wrong direction.

She didn't look up right away. Couldn't.

But she knew.

She knew.

His presence wrapped around her like frost up her spine — too cold, too sudden, too familiar.

Kael.

She turned.

And there he was.

Standing at the bar's far edge, apart from the crowd, perfectly still like the chaos knew better than to touch him.

Same dark suit. Same silver eyes.

Except now, they weren't hidden by shadows.

They saw her.

Really saw her.

Her heart didn't race. It stopped. Then stuttered. Then picked up again, too loud, too hard, as if trying to knock its way out of her chest.

He said nothing.

Didn't wave. Didn't smirk. Just waited.

Like he knew she'd come to him.

And she did.

She didn't even remember walking, only that one second she was behind the bar, and the next, she was standing across from him, staring at a man whose name had lived in her bones for longer than she'd been alive.

"What can I get you?" she asked, voice tighter than she meant.

His gaze dropped, not to the menu behind her. To her hands.

She followed his eyes and realized she was still gripping the edge of the counter like it might float away.

He didn't answer. Just reached out slowly and slid an empty glass toward her with two fingers.

Their hands met.

It was accidental.

It was everything.

His skin brushed against hers and the world went white.

No, not white — fire.

She wasn't standing at a bar anymore.

She was kneeling in ash.

The sky cracked open above her, bleeding gold and smoke, and bodies littered the ground in broken heaps. Somewhere, far off, steel clashed against steel. Screams tore through the air. Magic burned through the seams of the earth.

And he was there.

Kael.

Bleeding again.

Armor dented. Sword slick with someone's blood. His eyes locked on hers like they were the only reason he hadn't fallen yet.

And her name, not Liora, but something older screamed across the battlefield.

Then she blinked.

And she was back.

The glass had slipped. Her hands were trembling. Her breath, ragged, sharp.

Her chest ached like she'd been running.

Kael was still there. Still watching her.

Expression unreadable. But his hand remained close, still tethered to hers, fingers brushing her palm.

He didn't speak.

But the look in his eyes was louder than thunder.

"It's her."

The words weren't meant for her.

But she heard them.

Barely a whisper. Like a ghost passing through his lips.

And then someone else stepped up behind him.

Lucien.

Liora had seen him before, one of the security leads. Tall, intimidating, shaved head, and an eye that looked like it had survived war.

He noticed the tension immediately.

Not just noticed, he felt it.

His eyes flicked from Kael's hand to Liora's face. Then back to Kael.

"Something wrong, boss?"

Liora held her breath.

Kael didn't flinch. Didn't turn.

He just answered, calm as a whisper over a grave.

"Nothing."

His fingers let go.

And just like that, the vision broke.

No fire. No blood. No battlefield.

Only the glass still on the counter. Her hand still shaking.

And Kael stepping away like the moment hadn't nearly split the world open.

He moved through the crowd with Lucien shadowing him, quiet, unreadable, as if the moment had never happened.

But it had.

And her body knew it.

Liora pressed her fingers to the pulse point at her throat.

Still there.

Still racing.

She turned, nearly stumbling behind the bar, and ignored the way Talia stared at her like she'd seen a ghost.

Because maybe she had.

Maybe she was one.

Her skin still burned where he touched her. The space behind her eyes still glowed with firelight that shouldn't exist.

And that voice...

"It's her."

He'd said it like a prayer.

Or a curse.

And Liora didn't know which scared her more, the fact that he recognized her…

Or the way a part of her, a dangerous, trembling, breathless part, wanted to be recognized.

She needed air.

Liora pushed through the side door near the end of the bar, barely noticing Talia calling after her. Her name got lost beneath the music anyway, that pulsing, mindless beat now pounding too hard in her chest to be anything but a warning.

The hallway was cooler. Dimmer. Quieter.

Not silent, but… removed.

The kind of space that didn't exist unless you were falling apart.

She leaned against the wall and let her head tip back, eyes closed, breath coming in short, staggered bursts. One hand still gripped the place where Kael had touched her, her palm aching from the way his fingers had sparked something ancient beneath her skin.

What the hell was that?

Her crescent mark wasn't burning, but it wasn't calm either. It pulsed steady and slow like it was syncing to a rhythm her heart hadn't learned yet.

She should've been terrified.

She was.

But layered beneath that terror, curled in the space between her ribs was something worse.

Desire.

Not the kind she could shrug off or deny. The kind that throbbed in her veins like a memory. That whispered not to run, but to reach. That pulled at her spine and said he's close again.

Her hands curled into fists.

"You don't know him," she muttered to herself. "You've never known him."

Except her body was screaming the opposite.

She heard the soft click of the hallway door opening not loud, not rushed. Just enough to make the hairs on her arms rise.

She didn't turn.

Didn't need to.

He didn't say anything, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking the silence first.

But she felt him.

That electric cold that followed Kael everywhere, the stillness that wasn't still at all. It was hunger, folded and dressed in human skin. It was grief that had worn a suit for so long, it forgot what mourning was.

"Are you following me?" she asked, voice low.

Still, he said nothing.

She exhaled sharply, turning finally only to find him standing far too close, gaze locked on her like he could see everything: her pulse, her thoughts, her dreams. Her fear.

Her wanting.

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped.

His voice was quiet when it came.

"Like what?"

She hesitated. "Like you know me."

Kael's jaw flexed. The light in the hallway cast half his face in shadow, making him look more statue than man. But his eyes burned silver, alive, unblinking.

"I don't know you," he said.

But it sounded like a lie. A slow, painful one he had to wrap his teeth around before it escaped.

"Good," she said, stepping back. "Then stop staring like you do."

He didn't move.

Didn't blink.

"It's not staring if I've seen you before."

Her breath caught.

It was supposed to be a line.

It wasn't.

It was a confession. Whispered like it hurt him.

Liora's back hit the wall.

She didn't remember moving. Didn't remember choosing to stay when her whole body screamed to go. But there she was, spine pressed to concrete, heart pressed to the cage of her ribs, mouth trembling.

Kael took a step forward.

Her hand flew up.

"Don't touch me."

His expression didn't change. But something in his eyes did a flicker of something ancient and aching.

"I wasn't going to."

Another lie.

They both knew it.

"You already did," she said.

He was close now. Too close. The space between them was less than a thought. Less than a lie. And gods, she hated that she could still feel the echo of his touch on her skin like a bruise.

Kael's voice dropped lower. Barely a breath.

"I shouldn't have touched you."

Her hands clenched at her sides.

"Then why did you?"

His answer was slower.

And softer.

And so devastatingly final.

"Because I always do."

That broke something.

She stepped forward not away, toward him, fury lighting her chest like kindling soaked in want. She didn't understand what was happening. Didn't understand why his presence made her dizzy or why her body kept reacting like it remembered things her mind couldn't catch up to.

But she wasn't going to let him control the moment.

"You talk like we've done this before," she said.

Kael held her gaze. "We have."

"Bullshit."

A pause.

Then: "You don't believe in déjà vu?"

"Not when it feels like war."

His mouth twitched. Not a smile — something darker. Something edged in pain.

"That's because it was."

She stared at him, her breath slowing, deepening, as if some part of her body wanted to listen before she even agreed to hear.

Kael looked at her like he wasn't seeing her at all.

He was remembering her.

That made her chest ache. Because it meant something was real, even if she didn't understand what.

And worse, she wanted to.

That desire was the most dangerous part.

Not the fear. Not the memory. Not the power curling under her skin.

The craving.

That's what made her whisper it again, without meaning to. The words half-formed, full of everything she was trying not to feel.

"Don't touch me…"

And gods help her, the breath she took after made her say the rest.

"…do it again."

Kael froze.

Then leaned in.

His lips brushed hers, not in hunger, not in dominance, but like memory. Like breathing. Like something both of them had done a thousand times but never in this lifetime.

The kiss was soft.

But the burn was brutal.

The second his mouth touched hers, her crescent flared under her skin, heat sparking against her bones like someone lighting the fuse to a storm.

And then he was gone.

He stepped back first. Not fast. Not rushed.

But like he knew he had to.

Like he always did.

She stood still. Hands trembling. Mouth parted.

She didn't move until he disappeared around the corner of the hallway.

Even then, she didn't chase him.

She leaned her back against the wall, looked down at her hands, and tried to remember which one of them was shaking more, her pulse or her pride.

She didn't know who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was the weight of something older than either of them pressing them forward, gravity, fate, memory. Something unnamed that refused to let go.

But his mouth found hers.

And everything else ceased to matter.

It wasn't a rough kiss. It wasn't even urgent. It was slow. Devastating. Like he was remembering it while he did it. Like some part of him already knew the shape of her lips, the tilt of her head, the exact second her breath would catch.

It burned.

Not like fire. Not like pain.

It burned like recognition.

Like home.

She didn't pull away.

She wanted to.

She meant to.

But her body betrayed her, and her soul, if that's what this was — was already leaning in.

Just as suddenly, he pulled back.

Kael stepped away like he'd touched something forbidden and knew he only had seconds before it consumed him. He didn't speak. Didn't try to explain. He just looked at her one last time, eyes rimmed with grief and reverence, then turned and walked down the hall.

No goodbye.

No name.

Just footsteps fading into music and neon.

Liora stood frozen, the chill of his absence colder than the night air outside. Her fingers brushed her lips like she needed proof the kiss had happened — like she didn't trust her own mouth to tell her the truth.

And then—

Heat.

A sharp, blooming warmth beneath her collarbone.

She looked down.

The crescent-shaped mark was glowing again, faint but undeniable, like it had been lit from within.

Not just memory.

Not just chemistry.

Something else.

Something real.

The music from the club filtered back through the hallway door, laughter, footsteps, the clink of bottles. But it all sounded distant now. Like a world she wasn't part of anymore. Not really.

She leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, throat tight.

Her mind said this is wrong.

But her soul whispered something else.

The echo of his kiss still lingered.

Her hand clenched slowly at her side.

"Don't touch me…" she whispered, voice barely audible.

A beat passed.

And then—

"Do it again."

The storm wasn't over.

It had only just begun...