She opens her mouth. Closes it. Breathes.
Then says, “I had personal reasons.”
“Whatreasons?”
“Ones that didn’t concern you.”
I stalk forward, gripping the edge of the crate between us. The plastic creaks beneath my fingers.
“Don’t do that,” I growl. “Don’t act like I was a stranger.”
“Youwerea stranger. Youdied. Or so I was told.”
“So you ran?”
She narrows her eyes. “I got reassigned.”
“Voluntarily.”
Silence.
“I dug it all up,” I say, voice low. “And you know what the timeline says? You vanish six months after my unit’s wiped off the map. You reappear with a dead stare and a fake smile. Transferred to this corner of the galaxy like you’re trying to disappear.”
“I needed time.”
“To heal?”
“Tosurvive.”
I move around the crate. She takes a step back. I don’t touch her. Not yet. But my voice cuts between us like a blade.
“What are you protecting?”
She shakes her head.
“Whoare you protecting?”
I see it.
That flicker in her expression.
A hesitation.
A tinybreakin the mask.
I grab her wrist—gentle, but firm enough she feels I could hold her forever if I wanted to.
She doesn’t pull away.
Her pulse pounds under my fingertips.
“Rynn,” I whisper. “Tell me the truth.”
She stares up at me, jaw clenched, lips parted. Her breath is fast. Her eyes shine with something like fear—no, not fear.
Pain.
“I can’t,” she says.
