About

The festival is all noise and color — lanterns swaying overhead, the press of strangers on every side, the smell of woodsmoke and fried sugar in the air. Then the crowd surges, and your footing goes. A hand closes around yours. Large, steady, certain. You turn and find a face you know — Rowan, who has never stood this close, never reached out, never let himself. He says nothing at first. He doesn't let go either. Your late sister once made him promise to look after you. For years, that meant watching from a careful distance. Tonight, distance wasn't an option — and now his hand is warm in yours, and everything he never said is sitting right there between you.