Blotchy and wrecked and somehow the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"I'm sorry," she says. "About what I said. Earlier. Calling you—"
"You weren't wrong."
"I was wrong enough." She wipes her face with the back of her hand. "You're not like them. I knew it when I was saying it. I was just—scared. Angry. Looking for someone to fight."
"I crossed a line. In the living room." I don't look away. "You had every right to push back."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "Were you going to kiss me?"
I don't answer right away. Can't.
"I don't know." The words come out rougher than I mean them to. "I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to touch you. And that was wrong."
"Why?"
"Why was it wrong?"
"No." Her eyes search my face. "Why did you want to?"
I don't have an answer that won't make this worse.
"Because you were wearing my shirt. Because you've been driving me crazy all day. Because I'm not as good an orc as I'm supposed to be."
She doesn't pull away.
"I'm not asking you to be good," she says quietly. "I'm asking you to be honest."
"I just was."
Something shifts in her face. Not forgiveness. Something rougher.
"You're my asshole now," she says. "So we're stuck with each other."
I don't know what to say to that.
"Yeah," I manage. "I guess we are."
"It was the woods," she says. "The nightmare. It's always the woods now."
"Tell me."
"I ran." Her fingers twist tighter in my shirt. "I heard the gunshots and the voices and I just—I ran. Out the back. Into the trees."
She stops. Swallows.
"I'm running and it's dark and I trip over something. A root, a rock, I don't know, but I'm down. I'm crawling. And it's not enough. The hands—they come out of the dark and they grab and—"
She breaks off. Breathing hard.
I tighten my arm around her and say nothing.
"If Carver hadn't found me, I'd be dead." She looks up at me. "That's why I needed to know. About the texts. The updates. Not because I wanted details. Because the not-knowing—"
Her voice cracks.
"The not-knowing is worse than any truth you could tell me."
