Page 20 of Second Chance with the Half-Elf
I fumble my way to the breaker box, flashlight app sputtering weakly.
“Come on,” I mutter, flipping switches. “Don’t you dare.”
The storm’s full tilt now—rain hammering the roof, wind shoving against the siding hard enough to make the whole place shiver.
I’m elbow-deep in stubborn old wiring when a sharp knock slices through the noise.
Then a voice, rough and steady through the downpour:
“Evie—it’s me.”
My pulse trips over itself.
I yank the door open, rain slamming sideways into the house.
Aeron stands there, soaked through, silver hair dark and slick, sea-glass eyes near glowing in the stormlight.
He fills the doorway like something summoned—too big, too steady, too close.
“Your power’s out,” he says, voice deep and rough-edged. “Saw the line spark. Thought you might need a hand.”
I cross my arms, heart hammering. “Didn’t think you made house calls.”
He arches a brow, water dripping from his jaw. “Storm’s nasty. Couldn’t walk by knowing you were sitting in the dark.”
Dammit.
I step back, chin tilted. “Breaker’s being a bastard. Be my guest.”
He brushes past me, heat rolling off him in waves.
And gods help me—I lean toward it, traitorous body and all.
He crouches by the breaker, long fingers moving sure and steady through the wires.
“Old system,” he mutters. “Storm probably knocked the main. Might need a full replacement.”
I pace behind him, arms tight across my chest.
Of all the nights.
His voice cuts through the air again, quieter this time.
“You okay?”
I bark a laugh—sharp and bitter. “Peachy.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I freeze. Then force the words out through clenched teeth.
“Maybe I have.”
He rises, turning slow, eyes scanning me like he can read every frayed edge.
“What happened?”
I hesitate, throat tight.
