If Tyler was fire, Erik was gravity.

Everywhere she moved, Erik was there—pulling her toward him without asking, without warning, without needing to say a word.

He was Lyran. Wolf-blooded. Half starlight, half storm. With the kind of voice that made sacred oaths sound like lullabies. And when he looked at her, Ra felt like she belonged somewhere… like maybe she was more than a weapon, more than a role.

The problem was, Erik didn’t fight for attention. He waited.

Waited for her to see him.

Waited for her to want him.

And stars help her, she did.

She found him in the training bay, shirtless, glistening, and flexing in a way that should be illegal in 17 galaxies.

"Are you seriously punching celestial steel to work out your feelings?"

"Better than punching people. Or letting them punch me."

The sass cracked the moment he met her gaze. His voice softened. "You okay?"

"No. But I don’t think I’ve been okay since you showed up in my life with that noble jawline and emotional maturity."

He chuckled. "So it’s my fault you’re spiraling. Got it."

"Don’t be sweet, Erik. I’m dangerously close to kissing you."

His eyes darkened. "Then do it."

There it was—that humming desire. That deep burn that lived under the skin, waiting.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

"I don’t know what I want," she whispered.

"Then stop trying to want what you should, and feel what you do."

And with that, he turned away, letting her drown in the wake of what could’ve been.