"That's—that's violation. That's invasion of privacy. That's?—"
"That's me knowing everything about you. Understanding you better than you understand yourself. Seeing the truth you're trying to hide even from yourself."
"What truth?"
"That you need me. That your body craves what I showed you. That running wasn't just about escaping the showcase—it was about escaping yourself. Escaping the knowledge that you want things you were taught to be ashamed of wanting."
"You're wrong."
"Am I? Then tell me you didn't think about that while you were running. Tell me your body didn't remember how it felt. Tell me you didn't spend those hours in the woods wanting to hate me but craving what I could give you instead."
I can't.
I can't tell him any of that because it would be a lie.
Because he's right.
Because even while I was running, even while I was cold and scared and desperate, some part of me was remembering.
Wanting.
Craving what only he could give me.
My silence is answer enough.
"That's what I thought," he says softly.
He pulls his hand from the water, stands and looks down at me with an expression I can't read.
"Finish your bath. Get warm. Make sure your core temperature comes back up. Then we'll see who's right about what you really want."
He leaves, closing the door partway.
Giving me a semblance of privacy that we both know is meaningless when he can watch me anytime he wants.
I sit in the cooling water, trying to process everything.
Trying to tell myself he's wrong.
That I don't need him.
Don't crave what he offers.
Don't want to surrender to this thing between us.
But my body remembers.
Remembers how it felt when he touched me.
Remembers the pleasure that overwhelmed everything else—fear, shame, the Sanctuary's teachings, everything.
Remembers wanting more with an intensity that scared me almost as much as he does.
And no matter how much I tell myself it's wrong, that I shouldn't want it, that wanting him makes me weak and broken and exactly what he's trying to make me?—
My body doesn't care about should or shouldn't.
It just wants.
