“It doesn’t bring Chance back.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t fix anything.”
“No.”
She stares at me, searching for something—excuse, maybe, or justification. Some way to slot me back into the role of monster, so this can be simple again. I don’t give her one because I don’t have one to give.
“I remember the operation,” I say, keeping my voice level and factual. “August fifteenth. Clear weather, good visibility. Intel suggested Aurora was extracting classified information about Syndicate operations. I authorized the use of lethal force.”
“You gave the order.”
“Yes.”
“You killed him.”
“Yes.”
The admission is heavy and undeniable. There’s no softening it, no way to make it mean something other than what it is.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” I say carefully. “Or understanding. I’m stating facts. You’re right. I gave the order. Your mate died because of my decisions. That’s what happened.”
“And now you’re trying to make it right by defecting.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Defecting doesn’t make anything right. It just means I stopped making it worse. There’s a difference.”
She’s quiet for a long time, just looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“I want to hate you,” she says finally.
“You should.”
“It would be easier if you were—” She stops, starts again. “If you made excuses. Or tried to justify it. Or didn’t seem to care.”
“Would that change anything?”
“No. But it would make this simpler.”
“This?”
She gestures vaguely between us, frustrated. “Whatever this is. You saving my life. Twice. Me not killing you when I had the chance. My wolf—”
She cuts herself off sharply, won’t finish that sentence.
I want to ask why, but I’m not the one who deserves to be asking questions.
“I should hate you,” she says again, quieter this time.
“You do.”
“Yes.” She looks at me directly. “And no.”
The admission seems to surprise her as much as it surprises me.
We stand there in the growing darkness, the silence almost oppressive. She’s still by the window. I’m still against the wall. The distance feels necessary, like something we’re both maintaining deliberately because closing it would be dangerous.
But then she moves. Just shifts her weight, and somehow that small movement brings her a step closer. I don’t step back. Should, probably. Maintain the distance. Remember that she came here to kill me and might still decide to finish what she started.
