“I can’t,” I whisper, more to myself than him.
“Can’t or won’t?”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Both.”
He doesn’t press. Just leans back on his elbows, stretching out on the cot beside mine like he belongs there.
“Then I’ll wait,” he says simply.
And that—that—somehow breaks me more than anything Dax ever did because Torres isn’t cruel. He’s kind. He’s light in a place where everything else feels like ash and I’m still stupidly, pathetically waiting on the man who treats me like a ghost he regrets touching.
A shadow moves outside the flap. Heavy steps. Dragged boots and I know it’s him before I even see him.
My lungs freeze.
My hands go still around the med kit I’m repacking just to keep busy.
Torres sees it too.
Sees the way my whole body reacts like I’ve been slapped.
He follows my gaze to the opening in the canvas, then back to me.
“You gonna be okay?”
I nod too fast. Lie too easily.
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t buy it but he doesn’t fight me on it either.
Just stands. Ruffles my hair. Murmurs something about needing to check inventory and disappears with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
The silence that follows is loud.
Thick.
Painful.
I hear the flap shift again.
Feel the air shift with it and I don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing there.
Dax.
I can feel him.
Like a fever under my skin. Like thunder waiting to break.
He doesn’t say anything.
Neither do I and for a second—just a second—I wonder if we’ll ever talk again like we used to.
If I’ll ever get to ask him why he looked at me like he wanted to kill something and then walked away like I was already dead. If he’ll ever say my name without it sounding like a sin he regrets confessing but he doesn’t say anything. Just stands there in the dark while my heart begs for something it knows it’ll never get from him.
Not warmth. Not answers. Not love.
