Rough Waters: 5. Deeper Waters

The sun rose reluctantly over the storm-battered mansion, casting a pale, gray light through the gauzy curtains. The world outside was damp, glistening, washed clean by the tempest of the night before, but inside Ivy’s room, the air was thick with tension, heat, and the aftermath of everything that had happened.

Ivy stirred under the blanket, curling into herself. The scent of him still lingered in the sheets—the heat of his skin, the faint smoke and salt of his presence—and she felt a shiver run down her spine. She had thought she could hide, she had thought she could push him out of her mind, but the memory of him claiming her, rough, insistent, and yet somehow tender in his own way, clung to her with the weight of a storm.

Then the door creaked open, slow and deliberate. Ivy tensed instinctively, heart hammering.

“Morning,” Jace said, voice low and teasing, like gravel sliding over silk. He leaned against the doorframe, wet hair clinging to his forehead, droplet