She didn’t answer.But something in her posture shifted—acknowledgment without surrender.
I added wood to the fire, calibrating heat and airflow the way I’d been taught to calibrate weapons.Keep her warm.Keep her fed.Keep her alive.
It was the opposite of every mission I’d ever been given.
When I straightened, she was still watching the table, refusing to look at me, refusing to eat, refusing to give up the last thing she controlled.She was going to drag this to the brink.
And I was going to let her.
Because forcing her would break her completely.And I couldn’t stomach that—not after everything I’d already done.
I returned to my vigilance—same chair, same position, same distance.The fire roared.The storm howled.Snow buried us deeper.
And Mia kept breathing.
That would have to be enough for now.
Mia
Gabriel didn’t react when I reached for the sandwich.He didn’t turn or make a sound.But I knew he heard every bite.The tension in his back loosened little by little, the rigid line of his shoulders easing as though he’d finally allowed himself to breathe.He just fed the fire and sat again, keeping his eyes trained on the flames instead of on me.
I stayed at the table even after I’d eaten as much as my stomach could tolerate.My hands stayed around the plate because it gave them something to do.Because it made me feel tethered to the physical world instead of all the chaos happening in my head.
The storm didn’t let up.Wind hammered the walls hard enough that the shutters rattled with every gust.Snow built against the door, the windows, probably the roof.We were trapped here, buried second by second under a storm that didn’t care what either of us had done or survived.
But it wasn’t the storm that scared me.It was the stillness between us—too quiet for captivity, too intense for peace.Whatever this was, it wasn’t going away.
I wrapped the blanket tighter and forced my body to stop shaking.Some of it was hunger and exhaustion.Some of it wasn’t.
“I’m not thanking you,” I said.My voice didn’t carry aggression.Just truth.“For the blanket.For the ropes.For the food.”
Gabriel didn’t turn.“I didn’t ask you to.”
I watched him—really watched him.The firelight brought out details I’d missed: the faint tremor in his left hand every time he exhaled, the stiffness in his posture that wasn’t about alertness, but something heavier.The exhaustion was layered over him like another garment.
“There’s a difference between killing someone and trying not to feel anything about it,” I said quietly.“You know that.”
His hand stilled on the arm of his chair.Slow breath in.Slow breath out.The only sign I’d hit something.
“You don’t know anything about me.”It wasn’t harsh.Just tired.
“You’re right,” I said.“I don’t.Not enough to forgive.Just enough to understand.”
Silence again—but different now.More fragile.
I gathered the blanket around my shoulders and pushed myself to stand.My legs shook under my own weight and I hated how obvious it must look.Gabriel didn’t move, didn’t get up to help, didn’t even look directly at me.But the tension in him changed instantly, like his body was braced for...what?A collapse?An attack?A scream?
I made it to the chair opposite his and sank down slowly, facing the fire instead of him.My body relaxed in tiny increments as the heat soaked into my skin.I didn’t look at Gabriel, but I could feel his attention shift toward me in small glances he probably thought I couldn’t sense.
We sat there in parallel silence—close enough to touch if either of us tried, far enough that neither of us had to decide what that meant.
Minutes passed.Then more.The storm screamed.The fire burned.My hunger eased into a dull ache instead of a threat.
“Last night,” I said quietly.“When you loosened the ropes.”
Gabriel didn’t respond immediately.When he finally spoke, the words sounded scraped raw.“You were hurting.”
I turned my head toward him.“You care whether I hurt.”
