"I know."
"We need to discuss boundaries. Parameters. She needs to be in control."
"I know that too."
"Do you?" Corvus's voice is sharp. "Because your track record on respecting her autonomy is—"
"I said I know." Dorian's arm tightens around me slightly. Protective. "When it happens, it's her call. All of it. I'm not... I won't be what we were before."
"We," Oakley says quietly. "We won't be what we were before."
The weight of that settles in the room.
I drift, not quite asleep, not quite awake. Floating in the warmth and safety my body insists is real.
At some point, the movie ends. Credits roll.
"Should we move her?" Oakley asks.
"No," Dorian says. "Let her stay."
"You're going to sit here all night?"
"If that's what she needs."
Footsteps. Oakley and Corvus leaving. The lights dimming.
Dorian and me on the couch.
His hand moves to my hair, fingers carding through it gently.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. So quiet I almost don't hear it. "For all of it. For hunting you. For taking you. For hurting you. I know sorry doesn't fix it. But I am."
Should say something. Should acknowledge the apology.
Too tired.
And maybe... maybe I don't want to break this moment either.
So I breathe. In and out. His scent filling my lungs.
And somewhere deep inside, something I've been fighting for weeks finally releases.
My shoulders drop. My jaw unclenches. The constant braced-for-impact tension drains from my muscles.
Not forgiveness.
Not acceptance.
Intermission.
A pause in the performance where I stop fighting long enough to catch my breath. Where biology gets its moment in the spotlight while my resistance waits in the wings.
I need them to live.
They're trying to be better.
For tonight, I'll let my body have this.
