"It's getting hot in here."
"Should I turn down the AC?"
"How about a drink?"
"Alcohol won't put out this fire."
"Are you sure it's not a different kind of heat?"
"Shut up."
Sunset. Stella's Apartment.
The living room was bathed in the warm, golden glow of the dying sun. On the plush sofa, Stella Bridger lay curled against Hunter's chest like a satiated cat, her eyes half-closed, limbs heavy with exhaustion.
Hunter ran a hand down her back, her skin smooth and cool like polished jade. He winced slightly as he shifted. On his shoulder and forearm, a neat row of teeth marks was already bruising purple.
Stella had been fierce.
When he first walked into her office, she had been a mix of relief and fury. Fury that he had ghosted her for weeks. Relief that he was alive. That emotional cocktail had exploded the moment they got back to her place. She had attacked him with a desperation that bordered on violence, biting and clawing as if trying to tear a piece of him off to keep forever.
But Hunter had won the war of attrition. His enhanced stamina had outlasted her fury, turning her rage into exhaustion.
"Still angry?" Hunter asked softly.
His other hand moved in the blind spot behind her head. A flicker of motion, and a pack of cigarettes appeared in his fingers.
He didn't need nicotine. He could go days without it. But the ritual of the post-coital smoke grounded him. It felt... complete.
Stella, resting her chin on his chest, noticed the pack instantly.
Hunter flicked his wrist. The pack snapped open, and a single cigarette launched into the air, landing perfectly between his lips. Another flick, and the pack vanished into thin air, replaced instantly by a silver Zippo lighter.
The sleight of hand was so fluid it looked like real magic.
"How do you do that?" Stella asked, her curiosity piquing.
She had been watching him closely. His arm was bare. There were no sleeves to hide anything. He hadn't moved from the couch. The pack should have fallen to the floor, but it had simply dematerialized.
She reached up, taking the lighter from his hand. She flicked it open and held the flame to the tip of his cigarette.
Click. Hiss.
Hunter took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before exhaling a slow, gray plume.
"Magic," he said, his voice low and teasing, "is just a lie told to the senses. It's about manipulating cognition and psychology. Once you know the trick... the wonder fades."
He was quoting the opening chapter of a magic guide he'd bought recently. But what he had just done wasn't magic. It was the Inventory system.
He had told Stella before that he dabbled in street magic. It was a convenient cover for his ability to make items appear and disappear. As a master thief and safecracker, she appreciated dexterity, so she bought the lie without question.
"So," Hunter smiled down at her. "Do you want to know the secret? Or do you want to keep the wonder?"
Stella didn't answer. She traced the line of his jaw with her finger, her eyes searching his face. The magic trick was impressive, but it wasn't what she cared about.
The weeks of silence had eaten at her. She was a woman who valued control, precision. Hunter was chaos. He had disappeared, leaving her to spin in a vortex of doubt and longing. A few hours of passion couldn't fix that kind of insecurity.
Hunter saw the shadow return to her eyes. He knew words weren't enough.
He grabbed her hand—the one still holding the lighter.
He held it up, his other hand hovering over her wrist. He made a few gentle, grasping motions in the air, like he was pulling invisible threads from the ether.
Stella watched, confused. "What are you—"
Suddenly, Hunter pressed his palm against the back of her hand and slid it down to her wrist.
Cold metal touched her skin.
Stella gasped, looking down.
Clasped around her wrist was a dazzling platinum bracelet. It was encrusted with dozens of diamond chips, centering on a flawless, three-carat solitaire that caught the sunset and fractured it into a thousand rainbows.
"A gift," Hunter whispered, kissing her forehead where her hair had fallen messy and wild. "I spent a long time looking for something that matched your shine."
Technically true. He had spent a solid ten minutes rummaging through Stansfield's loot in his Inventory.
He had better jewelry—pieces worth millions that would belong in a museum. But giving Stella something that expensive would raise questions. Stella wasn't a gold digger; she was a professional. A ten-million-dollar necklace would make her suspicious.
But this? This was perfect. A three-carat diamond bracelet, worth maybe seventy, eighty thousand dollars. Expensive enough to show he cared. Flashy enough to be romantic. But plausible for a "successful" thief.
Stella stared at the bracelet, her breath hitching.
She wasn't a girl who swooned over trinkets. But this wasn't just a rock. It was an apology. It was a promise. It was Hunter saying, I didn't forget you.
The resentment that had built up over the last month crumbled like a cheap lock.
She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I love it."
She leaned up and kissed his cheek—soft, tender, and completely vulnerable.
Hunter smiled. He had unlocked the master.
He shifted, scooping her up into his arms effortlessly.
"Where are we going?" Stella squeaked, wrapping her legs around his waist instinctively.
"The bedroom," Hunter growled playfully, carrying her toward the hallway. "The couch is too small. And I think... I missed a spot."
Stella laughed, burying her face in his neck as he carried her into the deepening shadows of the apartment.
Round two was about to begin.
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