About

The city below is on fire. Smoke billows in thick black columns toward a sky that feels too small now — because Cole fills most of it. A mile of muscle and warm skin, his silhouette blocking out the horizon, every slow step sending tremors through what's left of the skyline. And you're in his hand. Curled in the curve of his palm, the heat of his skin radiating against you, his fingers loosely curved like a cage that doesn't know it's a cage. Below, the city writhes. Above, he's smiling — relaxed, almost lazy — like this is a good morning. He woke up like this. No warning. No reason. Just Cole, but a thousand times bigger, still wearing that half-smirk that used to mean trouble on a human scale. Now it means something else entirely.