Ash laughs, too, and it feels good to be sitting here with him making light of my romantic ineptitude. So much of our conversation has been about strategy and death recently that it’s easy to forget to enjoy the time we have together. And even if I love the idea that he’ll be with me, I’m not convinced that wherever my life takes me next is a place Ash would want to be—or where his Family would let him be.

“It’s one of the first things I noticed about you,” Ash says. “Your humor.”

“Really?” I say, genuinely surprised. “I always felt like I was so serious at the Academy. It would be different if you met me in Pembrook. Laughing until I cried was kind of my thing. But then maybe you wouldn’t have liked me if you met me there.” I wag my eyebrows playfully. “To you I would have been a commoner.”

Ash shakes his head. “I think you’re absolutely wrong, November Adley. I would have known you were perfect anywhere I met you.”

“Perfect?” I say. “Okay, now I know you’re full of it. The last thing I am is perfect.”

“Perfect for me,” he says with such intensity in his expression that I think I might melt into the floor. And without me noticing it, the space between us has narrowed.

I open my mouth, once again feeling scrambled. “Well…I…now…”

Ash reaches up, running his thumb over my bottom lip and along my jawline to the back of my neck. “That’s a response that deserves a kiss if ever I heard one.”

This time I don’t mumble nonsense at him. I lean closer. “Then what are you waiting for?” I say, our faces only a couple of inches apart.

He closes the distance between us. His lips part as he presses them into mine. His hand drops from my neck to my lower back and he pulls me into him. And for this moment, it’s just me and Ash in front of a cozy fireplace in a tangle of blankets.

My eyes crack open for the hundredth time and I peer at the clock, which now reads 3:27 a.m. A shot of adrenaline sends me sitting straight up. I stare at Ash sleeping next to me in our makeshift beds, looking for any sign of movement. I listen to his breathing, but it’s long and heavy and consistent with a deep sleep.

I carefully peel back the blankets and pull on my socks, glancing at Ash once more before I get up. I tiptoe across the area rug in the living room and test the wood floor for creaky boards before I step on them. I silently lift my coat off the hook, check the pockets for cash, and pick up my boots. Then I open the apartment door with painstaking slowness to make sure it doesn’t whine.