60

 TOB 60 ROSE AMARA POV   I rub my eyes, convinced I'm seeing things. It must be a trick of my mind, a remnant of a dream that refuses to fade. But when our eyes meet in the dimness of the room, reality crashes in with brutal force. A jolt of recognition shatters through me, stark and undeniable.  It's him. Ethan.  The same Ethan I left behind in that warehouse, his presence commanding the space despite the shadows obscuring his features. His hand clamps over my mouth before I can react, stifling any protest that might have escaped my lips. Words dissolve in my throat; fear and confusion mingle in a tumultuous whirl. It's like an out-of-body experience, detached yet achingly present. In the scant light filtering through the balcony, I discern bruises marrying his face, a cut etched across his lip, traces of blood smudged in the creases of his skin.  Despite the injuries, the contours of his face are achingly familiar—the sharp jawline, the stormy eyes that once both infuriated and captivated me. I never expected to forget his face so soon. Even in my darkest moments or in the haze of sleep, his features remain hauntingly clear. His voice, a whisper in the night, carries weight. "I'm not leaving." Muffled protests escape as mumbles against his palm. I attempt to push against him, but his grip tightens, pinning my wrists above my head with a firmness that leaves me breathless. His thighs press down on mine, a familiar restraint that stirs conflicting emotions within me—fear, longing, anger. What does he mean by not leaving? My heart, already shattered once over him, cannot bear another fracture. It needs to end, for everyone's sake. I struggle against his hold, a futile attempt to break free. "Let me go," I managed to voice against his hand. He leans closer, his voice cutting through the darkness with quiet intensity. "You know the harder you fight, the more relentless I become. Stop." I press my leg against him, defiance fueling my movements, but his hold remains unyielding. His fingers dig into my wrist, a painful reminder of his strength. "Stop fighting," he commands, his tone unwavering. "Mmmm," I responded, a plea to release me. "Rose, do what you must. Bite, strike, push me away—it won't change a thing." His voice lowers, a whisper against my lips. "We made vows. Till death do us part?" No. Why can't he see? This isn't just about me; it's about the brotherhood, his dangerous betrayal. If Uncle Raven or the others discover his plans, they'll ensure he meets a fate reserved for traitors. I gave him an escape, a chance to leave the brotherhood alive, but he's here, defying logic. I lash out, striking his injured chest, and he winces but holds firm. Pushing him down, I climbed on top, the sheets tangled around my feet. My hands grip his shirt, nails digging into his skin, searching for some anchor in this chaos. Ethan's hands remain at his sides, a deliberate act of restraint that both infuriates and soothes me. Perhaps it's for the best. I'm on the brink of combustion, emotions roiling beneath the surface. "Leave," I demand, my voice trembling with pent-up energy. "Pretend it's seven years ago and walk away." "I can't," he replies quietly, his vulnerability seeping through his words. "You said I'm nothing," I accuse, tears welling up despite my resolve. "You were ready to leave." "Those were lies," he counters sharply, "to protect my cover." "Do you expect me to believe that?" "Do you think I would risk everything if you meant nothing to me?" "Why won't you leave?" Tears blur my vision, frustration and longing twisting within me. "I've already let you go." "But I didn't," he insists, his voice unwavering. He needs to stop saying these things; they unravel me, exposing the raw emotions I've struggled to contain. "If you stay, they'll kill you," I whisper, my voice cracking with fear. "They?" "The brotherhood's elite." His grip tightens on my hips, a familiar touch that grounds me momentarily. "Not you?" "I'm part of the brotherhood, Ethan." He tightens his hold, his touch both reassuring and agonizing. "That wasn't my question. Will you?" "Why won't you leave?" Desperation colors my voice, tears flowing freely now.  "You have to go to survive."  "You know why," he replies calmly, resolving to harden his features. My fist tightens in his shirt, a lone tear tracing down my cheek. My promise to Mom, never to show weakness, crumbles at this moment. I can't stop the tears. Today has been relentless, each moment pushing me to the brink. I'm tired, a part of me admitting relief. But even as he's here, he can't stay to survive.