Raven had never been one to doubt herself. She had spent years perfecting control - of her life, her choices, her emotions.

But lately, with Ryle, doubt was creeping in.

She sensed his hesitation before he ever said the words - felt it in the way his gaze lingered a moment too long before flickering away, in the way his fingers brushed against hers only to retreat like he'd touched fire.

And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to wonder if he truly cared, or if she was just another battle in a war she hadn't asked to fight.

Nixon Enterprises Private Lounge, Late Evening

The clink of ice against glass echoed in the stillness of the lounge. Raven swirled the amber liquid in her glass, watching the way the light bent through the crystal.

Ryle stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his silhouette outlined against the city skyline. He was quiet, too quiet.

She hated the silence between them now. It felt different - heavier, dangerous in a way neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Raven: (leaning against the bar) "You're pulling away."

Ryle stiffened but didn't turn.

Ryle: "I'm being careful."

Her fingers tightened around the glass. Careful.

It was such a simple word, but it felt like a dagger.

She set her drink down with more force than necessary.

Raven: "Careful or calculated?"

That did it. He turned, the sharp lines of his face illuminated by the city's glow.

There was something unreadable in his gaze, something he wasn't saying.

Ryle: (quietly) "This wasn't supposed to happen."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

Raven: "And yet it did."

The space between them was loaded, tense, straining under the weight of unspoken truths.

Ryle stepped forward, slow, deliberate. He hesitated just inches away from her, his presence warm and familiar, but his expression was unreadable.

Ryle: "You think this is easy for me?"

Her heart thudded.

Raven: "I think you make it harder than it has to be."

His jaw clenched, but he didn't argue.

Instead, his fingers brushed against hers - barely, fleeting. She could have pulled away. She should have pulled away.

But she didn't.

Raven: (softly) "Is this just another game for you?"

Something flashed in his eyes - anger, frustration, maybe even regret.

Ryle: "You know it's not."

She swallowed hard.

Then why did it feel like they were losing before they even had a chance to win?

She wasn't sure who moved first.

One second, the air between them was thick with restraint. The next, she felt the press of his forehead against hers, his breath shallow, his hands curled into fists at his sides as if he was fighting himself just as much as he was fighting her.

Ryle: (hoarse) "Tell me how to fix this."

Her fingers ghosted over his jawline, her touch hesitant, searching.

Raven: (softly) "I don't think you can."

And maybe, just maybe, that was the most terrifying realization of all.