Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
For the first time in what feels like forever, no one’s whispering behind my back. No one’s snickering at my desk or tagging me in meme chains online. Mason’s gone. The Cathedral forum is quiet. My inbox doesn’t feel like a loaded weapon anymore. I’m fighting back.
Gage is already in the breakroom when I walk in, and of course—of course—he’s holding the mug I always use. The black one with a lightning bolt.
He sees me, smirks, and raises the mug in a silent toast. “Guess what?”
I arch a brow, tugging the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands. “You finally learned how to program a basic loop?”
He huffs. “Funny. But no. I’m just celebrating how peaceful things have been lately.”
“Peaceful?” I echo, stepping closer. “So that’s what this is? You being nice?”
He’s wearing a gray tee today, one that fits too well, and his hair is still damp like he showered in a rush. He looks relaxed in a way that makes my skin tighten in awareness.
“Tell you what.” He steps forward, closes the small space between us. “I’ll let you have the first sip.”
That shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s just coffee. But when he holds it out, our fingers brush. His gaze drops to where we touch, and mine lifts to his mouth. He watches me take a sip, and it’s suddenly…too much. Too quiet. Too aware.
I clear my throat and break the moment, grabbing a napkin like it’s suddenly the most interesting object on the planet.
All day, I can feel his eyes on me.
Whenever I look up, he’s looking away. Whenever I speak in a meeting, he’s listening too closely. And every time Tasha pops by my desk, his whole body goes weirdly tense. Like he’s monitoring every word she says.
She even jokes about it. “Is it just me, or does Gage have a staring problem?”
I laugh. “He’s probably judging your grammar.”
She grins. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind. I plan on asking him out soon.”
That shouldn’t bother me.
It really, really shouldn’t.
But it does.
I hide it with a smile and act like I’m not internally spiraling. Because the truth is, I’ve been thinking about someone else. Constantly. Every night. Every hour. Mask.
I don't know what he looks like. I don’t know his real name. But I know him. His presence. His ability to make me feel safe in a world that hasn’t felt safe in months. I know the way my stomach flips when he says my name. And I know how I dream about him—how my lips burn with the memory of a kiss I haven’t had.
I remember my dreams, and my thoughts turn to Gage. Could it be him? Could he be Mask?
That’s a stupid thought. Gage can’t be him. Gage is too loud. Too cocky. Too…public.
Mask is shadow and silence. He operates in the in-between. He’d never show up to the office in tight shirts and make smirky comments about whose turn it is to do the bug sweep.
Still, I watch Gage like I’m trying to figure out a puzzle. I search for clues in the slant of his jaw, the scruff on his chin, the intensity of his gaze.
Nothing matches.
Nothing fits.
But I can’t stop looking.
After work, the sky’s already fading to dusk as I walk toward the garage. My phone buzzes.
MASK: Come outside. Alone.
MASK: North entrance. Now.
My heart skips.
My legs move before my brain catches up.
He’s waiting in the shadows near a side street. Hoodie up. His face hidden by a sleek, black mask that covers his face. A balaclava.
I stop a few feet away, trying to steady my breath. “You’re here.”
“I needed to see you.”
“You’re always watching.”
His head tilts. “You noticed.”
“I’ve noticed a lot of things.” My voice is hushed, unsteady. “Like how you never stay long. Or how your voice sounds different sometimes. But not tonight.”
He doesn't answer. Just watches me like I’m something delicate and dangerous all at once.
I take a step forward. “Can I…see you?”
A pause. Then: “Soon.”
That one word makes me ache.
I don’t know what overtakes me—boldness, longing, or just sheer desperation—but I close the distance between us and press my hands against his chest.
He’s real. Solid. Warm.
And when I tilt my face up to his, he doesn’t pull away.
I lift the mask to where only his mouth is uncovered, and then I kiss him. It takes him a second to register, and then he’s kissing me back.
Hard. Like he’s been waiting for this. Like he’s been holding himself back for weeks and this is the moment it breaks. His hands find my waist, gripping me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I gasp into his mouth, and he takes it, deepening the kiss. Tongue sliding against mine, breath mingling, his head angling to get even deeper.
He tastes like danger and comfort all at once. Like secrets and safety.
He backs me into the wall, and I let him. His fingers splay across my lower back, pressing me into him. I feel everything—his strength, his restraint, his hunger. Him. It’s hard, and I rock my center against it, and he grips me even tighter.