Nova’s lips part. “Oh.”
I nod once.
“Do you have siblings?” she asks, quieter now.
“No.”
Her throat works. “So it’s just you.”
I don’t answer.
Becauseyes.
Because I don’t know how to live any other way.
Nova shifts in her chair like she wants to reach across the table and touch my hand, but she doesn’t. She keeps her hands in her lap like she’s afraid of taking.
Then she says softly, “That’s why you’re… like this.”
I lift my gaze.
She holds it, nervous but steady.
“Like what?” I ask.
She swallows. “Quiet. Like you’re… used to carrying things alone.”
My chest tightens again.
She sees too much.
I don’t like it.
Or I like it too much.
I lean back slightly and force the conversation somewhere safer. “What about you?”
Nova’s shoulders go stiff.
There it is.
The flinch.
The reflex.
I watch it happen and my protective instincts stir again, low and angry.
She takes a breath. “I don’t really have family.”
“What do you mean,” I ask.
She shrugs, but it’s a thin shrug. A practiced one. “They exist. They’re just… distant. Busy. Not the kind of people who call.”
My jaw tightens.
I know that kind of family.
The kind that leaves you to raise yourself and then acts surprised when you don’t ask for help.
