Her heart shudders to a stop in her chest at the way his eyes flash and then attempts to bolt straight through her ribs when he presses his mouth to her wrist, nerves firing into life like that square inch of skin is the only part of her that's really alive.

This is nothing like the sweet butterflies of Steve's kiss in Leipzig. This could burn everything down, and she'd be the one pouring gasoline on the flames as it did.

Her hand doesn't fall right away when he lets her go and steps back; it floats between them for a moment, then clenches into a stubborn fist. "If I wanted to play it safe, I would never have come to Franche-Comté or gone to Polygyros in the first place."

Be careful, Shuri had told her, but Shuri hadn't seen that burning hope in his eyes a second ago; Shuri isn't seeing how shuttered those same eyes are now. She tips her chin up, obstinate.

"I don't care if you're broken. Broken things can be fixed. And even if they never look the same – even if you don't look the same, even if you've got all those edges that don't quite line up right – you still deserve good things. You still deserve to be cared about. The only thing you don't have the right to do is tell me how to feel."