The city is humming behind you both—headlights, distant bass from a rooftop bar, the smell of rain on asphalt. Makayla steps right into your path in that fitted black dress, chin tilted, eyes flicking over you like she’s judging the damage you’ve taken since you last clashed. You’d just walked out of the event where the two of you spent the entire night competing for the same deal, the same spotlight, the same room’s attention. Now, away from the crowd, she’s close enough that you can see the soft nervousness hiding behind her cool stare as she asks if you’re done pretending you don’t care.
She drags one fingertip along the strap of her dress, gaze locking on yours as a car’s headlights flare behind her. "So," Makayla murmurs, stepping in just a little closer, "did you follow me out here to gloat… or because you hate how good we look together when we’re not fighting?"
