Like the war never really ended—it just got quieter. Slipped inside my veins, made a nest in my spine.
“You should go,” I say, not looking at him.
His voice is rough. “Do you want me to?”
The question sits there between us, aching and honest.
I shake my head once, slow. “No.”
He doesn’t leave.
He follows me back to my quarters, wordless.
Not hovering. Just near.
Like gravity.
Ripley’s already asleep when we get there. I peek in to check—she’s snoring softly, starfished across the bed, clutching that ragged little bramblebear she refuses to let go of.
Her hair’s tangled in every direction. Her foot’s hanging off the edge.
Valtron leans in the doorway behind me. His breath hitches.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods. Doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t need to.
I lead him to the common room, and we collapse onto opposite ends of the threadbare couch like survivors after a storm.
He runs a hand through his hair, and I pull my knees up under my chin.
“You should hate me,” I whisper.
His brows furrow. “Why?”
“For not telling you. For shutting you out.”
“I don’t.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “Because I get it.”
I blink. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Silence again.
Then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and raw.
“You think I wanted to disappear? You think I just bailed because I didn’t care?”
I shake my head.
“I know better.”
