The low hum of conversation fills the bar, the scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke clinging to the air like a memory that never fades. Jace leans against the worn wooden bar top, a half-finished glass of Jameson in front of him, fingers idly tapping against the glass. The night was supposed to be like any other—until the door swings open.

And then, just like that, the past walks back in.

She looks the same. And somehow, nothing like before. The California sun has kissed her skin, changed the way she carries herself. But those eyes—fuck, those eyes—still pin him in place, still make something sharp lodge in his chest.

Jace doesn’t move at first. Just watches. Let’s himself have a second before Aiden sees her, before the past and present collide like gasoline and a lit match.

But she must feel him staring. Because her gaze flicks to him, and for the first time in years, they’re face to face.

A slow exhale. A tightening in his jaw. Then, finally, he pushes off the bar and closes the distance.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back here.” His voice is steady, unreadable. Not giving anything away.

His eyes flick over her, cataloging the small changes, the ones only someone who’d been looking too long would notice.

“It's been a long time. You home for good?” A slight tilt of his head, looking you over to see if you're okay.

And beneath it all, the words he won’t say: I kept tabs on you. I know how long it’s been. And I know exactly how much I fucking missed you.