Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

S ophia

The air is thick with tension as I sit beside Zeus’s enclosure, the aftermath of the attack still swirling around us. The world has fallen into a quiet lull, but it’s the kind of quiet that feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for the next storm to hit. My heart is pounding in my chest, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. We stopped them this time, but barely.

And now, here we are. Alone. Alex stands a few feet away, silent, watching me with that intensity that always makes my pulse race. The danger has passed, but the space between us feels more dangerous than anything we just faced.

I don’t know how to process everything I’m feeling. Fear for Zeus, relief that we stopped them—anger, confusion, and, worst of all, this aching, undeniable pull toward Alex that I can’t seem to shake. It’s been there since the beginning, lurking beneath every sharp word, every glance, every accidental touch.

But I can’t let myself go there. Not now. Not with him.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft, low, like he’s afraid of shattering the fragile silence around us. I hate how much I want to lean into the comfort his voice offers.

I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m still too raw, too overwhelmed by everything—by the fact that we almost lost Zeus, by the closeness of the attack, and by the way Alex is looking at me now, like he can see right through me.

I press my hands into the ground, trying to ground myself, trying to stop the storm raging inside me. But it doesn’t help. The tension between us is still there, simmering, and I don’t know how to make it go away. Maybe I don’t want to.

“You did good tonight,” he says, his voice still quiet, but there’s something else in it now. Admiration. Something more. “You’re stronger than you think.”

His words hit me harder than I expect, and I feel a rush of heat spread through my chest. I don’t know why his approval matters so much to me, but it does. And I hate it. I hate that after everything, I still crave that connection, still feel the pull toward him.

For a moment, I don’t fight it. I let myself feel it—the warmth of his words, the way they make me feel like maybe I’m not as lost as I think I am. I don’t pull away from the vulnerability that’s creeping in, just this once.

I look up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time since everything went down. His eyes are dark, intense, filled with an emotion I can’t quite name. He’s watching me so closely, like he’s waiting for me to break, to let him in just a little.

And for the first time, I think maybe I want to.

“Alex…” I start, but the words die in my throat. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now. There’s just too much, all at once—fear, relief, anger, and this overwhelming, confusing desire that I can’t keep ignoring.

He steps closer, his movements slow, careful, like he’s testing the waters. My heart skips a beat, and I hate how my body reacts to him, how I’m suddenly so aware of the space between us, of how easily he could close it.

“I’m not trying to push you,” he says softly, his gaze locked on mine. “I just… I don’t want you to think you have to carry this alone.”

His words are gentle, but they hit me like a sledgehammer. Carrying things alone is all I’ve ever known. It’s what I’m good at. But the truth is, tonight scared the hell out of me. Almost losing Zeus, the circus, the people I care about—it’s all too much. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to carry it alone anymore.

I don’t respond, but I don’t look away either. I let the silence stretch between us, thick with unspoken things, with emotions neither of us are ready to face. I can feel the heat of him, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. It’s been building for so long, this unspoken desire between us, and for the first time, I’m not sure I want to fight it.

He moves closer again, just enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. His hand lifts, slowly, hesitantly, like he’s giving me the chance to stop him, to pull away. But I don’t. I can’t.

His hand rests on my arm, gentle but firm, and I feel the electricity of his touch shoot through me. It’s like a spark, igniting something inside me that I’ve been trying to smother for so long. My breath catches, and for a second, I let myself lean into it, into him.

But just as quickly, the fear comes rushing back—the fear of losing control, of letting him in, of getting hurt again. I can’t afford to be vulnerable. Not now. Not ever.

I pull away, stepping back, breaking the connection between us. The air feels colder, emptier without his touch, but I force myself to put the walls back up. I have to.

“We need to focus,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “This isn’t about us. It’s about the animals, about the circus.”

Alex watches me, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s not giving up. Not yet.

“I know,” he says softly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not about us too.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and unresolved. I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t. Instead, I turn away, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing.

The tension between us is still there, thick and undeniable, but I’m not ready to face it. Not yet.

I hear Alex move behind me, but he doesn’t press. He’s giving me space, but I can feel the weight of his presence, the unspoken promise in the way he lingers near.

We’re not done. Not by a long shot.

But for now, the danger has passed. The emotions haven’t.