Chapter 6 – The Space Between Truths
The opera house clung to her skin long after she left it.
Raven drove back in silence, city lights slipping across the windshield like fractured glass. Micah had stayed behind to lock down the scene, barking orders into his radio, but her pulse wasn’t caught on the crime anymore. It was caught on the shadow she had seen at the edge of the stage.
Elijah Cross. Alone. Watching.
Leo sat stiffly in the passenger seat, one knee bouncing restlessly. He hadn’t spoken since she pocketed the card, though his gaze kept darting to her profile like he wanted to demand answers. She ignored it. Whatever Evelyn had told him, he wasn’t ready for the truth, not the kind Raven was drowning in.
By the time she pulled into her building, the storm had returned, a fine mist turning the street into a silver blur. She killed the engine.
Leo finally spoke. “Do you believe me now? About him?”
Raven unbuckled her seatbelt, her expression cool. “I believe he’s tangled in this. That’s not the same as being guilty.”
Leo scoffed. “You’re smarter than this.”
“Smarter than assuming, yes.”
He leaned toward her, voice lowering. “Then at least be careful. Elijah Cross doesn’t orbit anyone without a reason.”
She opened her door, stepping into the rain. “Neither do I.”
Her apartment was dark when she entered, but she didn’t bother with the light. The hum of the city outside her window filled the silence as she set her coat over a chair and peeled off her gloves.
She sensed him before she saw him.
“Elijah.”
He emerged from the shadows of her living room, perfectly composed, as though the storm couldn’t touch him. A tailored coat framed his shoulders, his dark eyes fixed on her like he had been waiting all night.
“You shouldn’t leave your balcony unlocked,” he said softly.
Her pulse kicked, but she refused to show it. “Breaking into my home isn’t the best way to clear suspicion.”
“Suspicion isn’t what I’m here to clear.”
He took a step closer. Raven’s breath tightened, not from fear—never just fear—but from the heat that flared whenever he breached her space.
“You saw the body tonight,” he said. “You saw the rose.”
Her jaw tightened. “You know what it means?”
“I know it wasn’t meant for you.” His eyes darkened. “It was meant for me.”
The admission rocked her, though his voice remained maddeningly calm.
“Explain,” she demanded.
He didn’t. Not yet. Instead, his gaze roved over her face, stopping on her mouth. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
The air snapped tight. She hated that he could read her body as easily as she read crime scenes. Hated more that when he lifted his hand, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek, she didn’t move away.
“Elijah—”
“You should stay away from me,” he murmured, though his thumb lingered against her jaw. “But I don’t think either of us wants that.”
Her resolve cracked, jagged and sharp. She should have pushed him back, demanded answers, called Micah, anything but this. Instead, she let him close the space. His mouth claimed hers with the kind of hunger that tasted like violence and salvation in equal measure.
Raven’s back hit the wall, his coat pressing cool against her as his hands pinned her in place. She kissed him back with all the fury she’d been burying since Zara’s death. Every scar, every unanswered question, every pulse of need ignited in that collision.
“Tell me,” she whispered against his lips. “Tell me what you know.”
“Not yet.” His mouth traced the line of her throat, teeth grazing skin. “But I will. When I trust you.”
She almost laughed at the hypocrisy—trust while he cornered her, trust while he hid truths that could gut her ,but the sound was swallowed when he dragged her shirt upward, his hand finding bare skin.
It wasn’t gentle. Nothing about him ever was. It was sharp, consuming, the kind of touch that blurred warning into want. She let him strip her defenses because in that moment, need roared louder than suspicion.
He lifted her effortlessly, her legs curling around him as he carried her down the short hall. Clothes fell in scattered shadows—her shirt, his coat, the knife-edge of restraint. By the time they collapsed against her bed, she was shaking, not from fear, but from the force of him breaking through walls she swore she’d never lower.
After, the silence was unbearable.
Raven lay on her side, sheets tangled at her waist, her back to him. Her body still thrummed, but her mind clawed for distance. She had given in to hunger, not trust.
“Elijah.” Her voice was low, steady. “The Verse. You were part of it.”
A pause. Then, “Yes.”
Her chest tightened. “And Zara?”
Another pause, longer. “I knew her.”
The words hit like glass. She turned sharply, searching his face. His composure cracked—just barely, but enough for her to see grief carved into the lines of his mouth.
“You knew her,” she repeated, fury threading through her veins. “And you said nothing?”
“I left the Verse because of her,” he said, voice raw for the first time. “Because of what happened.”
Her stomach twisted. She wanted to demand everything, every memory, every secret, but exhaustion dragged at her bones. The storm rattled against the window, rain streaking down glass like blood.
She turned away again, pulling the sheet over her shoulder. “If you keep lying to me, I’ll find out on my own.”
Behind her, he exhaled slowly, as though it cost him.
“I know,” Elijah said.
And in the silence that followed, Raven realized the storm outside wasn’t half as dangerous as the one she had just invited into her bed.
