She smiles. Just a small thing. But it makes her look... less burdened.
And makes me want things I have no right wanting.
“What about you?” she asks hesitantly. “Do you have family waiting on this Christmas Eve? People who are worried?”
I smile wistfully, and look away.
“No one,” I tell her. Just those two words.
Two words that contain a decade of choices. Of prioritizing empire over connection. Of pushing people away before they could get close enough to hurt me. Of building walls so high that nobody bothered trying to scale them anymore.
“Can I ask you something?” she asks.
I merely look at her.
Taking that as a go-ahead, she continues: “How come you don’t have a Christmas tree? Or any other holiday decorations?”
I shrug. “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”
She frowns. “Well yes, I got that. But... why?”
I stare into the fire.
“My parents both died around Christmas,” I hear myself saying. “Different years. My father when I was twenty-eight. Left me a struggling mining company and a lot of debt. Christmas with him was always... board meetings. Conference calls. Him drilling into me that family was just another resource to extract value from. He’d been that way since... since mom died.”
I risk a glance at her and see her expression shift. It softens with an understanding that pisses me off because I don’t want her pity.
Thankfully she doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask the obvious follow-up questions.
Just nods once and looks back at the fire.
“I’m sorry,” she says eventually. “That Christmas is so full of... bad memories. And that you’re alone.”
“Don’t be.” My voice comes out harsher than I mean it to. “It’s my own fault. Every bit of it. The alone part, anyway.”
She doesn’t argue with that.
We fall back into silence.
The fire crackles and a log shifts. I should add more wood soon. The temperature’s already dropping as the evening goes on.
I glance at the small stack of logs beside the fireplace. Maybe a day’s worth left before I’ll need to brave the cold and bring more in from outside.
Thomas stocked three cords in the covered wood storage on the north side. Should be plenty.
Except we’re burning through it far faster than I expected. This massive room requires constant heat. The floor-to-ceiling windows bleed warmth like a sieve. At this rate, three cords might last a week.
Maybe less.
Another problem. Another resource limitation. Another reminder that all my billions can’t conjure firewood out of thin air.
I push the thought aside. We’ll deal with it later. The storm will probably break tomorrow, and the main power could come back online at any time after that. So five days of wood is hardly a problem.
Sorrel yawns, stretching like a kitten. The movement makes my hoodie ride up, and I look away before she notices me staring at the exposed skin of her waist.
“I should probably try to sleep,” she says. “Long day.”
“Yeah.” I don’t move from my chair. “Good idea.”
