“Yes,” I say. “He thinks everyone exists to serve him.”
Nova glances down at him, then back up at me. “And you let him?”
I shrug. “Not always. Someone has to keep him humble.”
Her eyes soften for a second.
Then she clears her throat. “Thank you. For earlier. For… not making it weird.”
My gaze flicks up.
Her eyes don’t hold mine for long. She stares at her plate like she’s confessing to a crime.
“I’m not going to make it weird,” I say.
She swallows. “Still. Thank you.”
We eat for a minute in quiet, the fire crackling, the cabin warm around us. Outside, the wind slides past the walls, soft and persistent.
Nova sets her fork down carefully, like she doesn’t want to make noise. “So. You… built this cabin?”
I pause.
It’s a normal question. Harmless.
“It was written on the auction flyer,” she adds.
But my chest still tightens around it because the answer is mine. My life. My solitude. The things I built when everything else got taken.
“Yeah,” I say. “Took a while.”
Her eyes widen a little, like she’s trying to imagine it. “By yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s…” She searches for the word, then gives up and just says it. “That’s impressive.”
I grunt.
Her mouth quirks. “Is that your version of thank you?”
I blink at her.
She’s smiling. A little. Like she’s testing the ice.
Something in me shifts, reluctant and warm.
“Maybe,” I say.
Nova’s smile grows, then fades as her gaze drifts around the cabin. “Do you live out here all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
I hesitate.
“Yeah,” I say finally.
