He doesn’t move. Just watches.
“You marked me,” I whisper. “You came tomyspace.”
“You let me in.”
We sit in silence. Minutes pass. The ventilation hums. Somewhere, a maintenance bot chirps and wheels past, oblivious to the tension stretching between us like a wire about to snap.
“I dream about you,” he says at last.
I close my eyes.
“You’re soft, but you don’t break. I’ve broken battle cruisers with less effort than it takes to hold you. And still... I held you.”
I feel warmth rise in my chest. Shame, desire, confusion—some tangled root system sprouting all through me.
He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table. “Do you know what power is, Freya?”
I shake my head, because words have abandoned me.
“Power is restraint. True power. It’s knowing you could destroy... and choosing not to. It’swantingto destroy, and still—holding back. For her.”
My throat’s dry. I can’t look away.
“Do you think I don’t crave to tear this metal world open?” he growls. “To rip the sky down and wear it like a cloak just to see you smile?”
“You’re being poetic,” I murmur, voice tight.
“I’m being honest.”
I look at my hands, clenched so tight the knuckles are white.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I want everything.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is wanting you.”
I glance up. The heat in his eyes is nuclear. But behind it—something tender. Bleeding.
“You think I don’t know how small you are?” he asks. “How fragile? Do you think I don’t lie awake remembering how you gasped beneath me, how youtrustedme? That your body, that little shell, opened to me without a word?”
I bite my lip. “You’re scaring me.”
His expression doesn’t change. “I know.”
“And I’m still here.”
That makes him pause. Like I’ve surprised him.
I rise slowly and take a few steps forward. My legs tremble. The air between us thickens. When I stop just short of touching him, I hear the rasp of his breath.
“You want everything?” I whisper. “Then earn it.”
He blinks.
I place my hand on his chest—right over his heart, if Reapers have those.
