He has no fucking idea what thatactuallymeans.
I stay silent, watching his mouth move like a man who thinks he’s sharing good news.
“So I—I teach the older kids sometimes. You know, just basic stuff. Tech. Online safety. How to manage life after here.”
He says it like it’s no big deal. But my chest clenches. Because if he’s doing that, and the kids are learning—even a little—that might actually be giving some of them a fighting chance.
To survive.
Toescape.
I take an unconscious step toward him before I realize it. “What specifically do you teach?”
His lips curve up slightly, and that tells me everything. He noticed my step. And he thinks it means something.Fuck.
“It’s nothing too advanced,” he says softly. “Just... how the internet works. What networks are. Where to find help if things go wrong.”
I frown. “Help? With what?”
There’s something in his tone. He knows. Not everything. But something.
“You know... if the families they end up with aren’t great.” He swallows hard. “Just giving them tools to... reach out. Escape, maybe.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Heknowssomething.
Shit. I can’t ignore this now. If there are random dots to connect, I need them. No matter who’s holding them. Evenhim.
I exhale, frustrated. “We need to talk.”
His eyes widen like I just dropped a grenade between us. He thinks I mean us. The past. The ruin. The grief.
So I clarify, tone flat. “About your clear distrust of the system. I’m guessing you’ve seen something? Suspect something?”
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean... could be nothing. But it’s been weird. Is this about Mehul Bedi?”
Bingo.
I nod once. “Meet me tomorrow. Outside your apartment. Nine a.m.”
He nods without hesitation. “Yeah. Whatever you need.”
I move past him toward my bike, heart hammering. My skin buzzes with the kind of anxiety I usually reserve for ambush zones. But the real threat is more subtle.
I can feel his eyes on my back. Still watching. Still wondering.
I sigh.
I need to stop overanalyzing everything when it comes to him.
I don’t do this with anyone else. Not this obsessively. Not this...emotionally.
He can’t be special. Heshouldn’tbe.
But he is.
And that’s going to be a fucking problem.
