His brows rise. “Why?”
“Because I almost sabotaged this. Us.”
He leans forward, voice low. “Then don’t.”
My pulse slams.
“Don’t sabotage it, Aria. Just… let it be. Let it breathe.”
I look at him. Finally.
And something in me cracks.
Not a break. A release.
And gods help me, I do.
Just for a second.
Just enough to lean forward and rest my forehead against his.
Not a kiss.
Not yet.
Just closeness.
His eyes close. Mine do too.
And we sit there. In the dark.
Together.
Breathing.
Alive.
The chamber doors hiss shut behind me, sealing away the taste of metal and fire. I strip the neural cap off my head like it’s a vice, dragging the cord with it. My scalp tingles from the static discharge, my skin still vibrating with his emotions.
It’s too much.
Too much of him. Too much of me.
The Meld is supposed to unify us—bridge the space between. But right now, it feels like we built the bridge out of dynamite and ran across it dragging lit matches.
My heart’s a thunderclap behind my ribs. My hands shake as I rip off the last of the suit gear, letting it drop to the floor with a hollow clatter. The artificial lighting above flickers with a pulse that syncs perfectly with my headache.
Gods. Breathe.
I grab the edge of the utility sink and lean into the cool porcelain, closing my eyes. The room smells like burned circuits and ozone and the faint tang of fear sweat. Mine. Maybe his too.
“You don’t get to control everything.”
The words echo like a punch thrown in a dream. Regret chases them—like always—but I shove it down. I meant what I said. Even if it came out raw.
He pushed.
And I broke.
