I don’t want to look at him.
Because if I do, I might fall.
And I’ve only just learned how to stand.
“Yeah?” I say without turning.
“You don’t have to keep running.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard.
“I’m not running.”
“You are. But it’s okay. I just... wanted you to know I’m not chasing. I’ll walk beside you. Or wait, if I have to.”
I laugh, but it’s sharp. Shaky. “That sounds like the start of a vow, not a battle strategy.”
His grin flashes through the Meld like a firecracker in my chest. “Maybe it’s both.”
“Idiot.”
“Yours.”
The word hits like a hammer between my ribs.
Mine.
I yank the neural cap off before I can respond. My whole body feels overheated—skin too tight, nerves too loud.
Beside me, he pulls off his own cap slowly. Doesn’t say another word. Just watches.
And I know.
Iknowif I let him, he’ll see everything.
Not just the anger. The fear. The grief.
But the want.
The ache.
The truth.
I’m not ready to give it.
Not all of it.
But I don’t leave.
I sit in the cockpit, fingers clenched around my lap belt, and breathe in the ozone-slick air of Whiplash’s control cabin. The metal walls feel closer now, like they’re echoing back every thought I can’t swallow.
Naull rests his hands on his knees, patient. Calm.
“I used to think you were the worst pilot they could’ve assigned me,” I whisper.
He tilts his head. “And now?”
“Now I think... maybe I was the worst tech they could’ve assigned you.”
