Viper swallowed it down, forcing his breathing even as he shifted back against the rock.
Later, he’d think about what almost happened.
Right now, Titus clearly wasn’t thinking about it at all.
Titus dragged a hand through the grit beside him, fingers closing around a small stone.
He flicked it into the sand outside the overhang.
The tiny click echoed louder than the wind.
“Doesn’t change what they did,” Titus muttered, eyes dropping to the sand between his boots.
“No,” Viper said quietly. “But it changes what you’ve carried.”
Titus exhaled, rough, the sound swallowed by the shifting air.
“Blood doesn’t mean shit to me. I learned that the hard way.”
The words hit hard. Viper felt the man’s pain and curled his fist against his thigh to stay still.
He studied Titus’s face in the half-light—sharp, striking, damn near beautiful when he let his guard slip.
“Then what does?” Viper asked.
Titus’s gaze lifted, swirling, at odds with his calm voice.
“Control. Discipline. Relying on myself. The rest’ll get you killed.”
“It sounds like you don’t trust.”
Those blue eyes snapped back to him.
“Not many.”
“I hope I’m one of them.” His voice came out lower, rougher than he meant.
A small smirk tugged at Titus’s mouth—quick, unreadable, but oh so fucking dangerous.
“You’re getting there.”
The words hit hard—Titus was starting to trust him.
Viper kept his face carefully blank.
Titus shifted some, brushing grit from his palms, turning away like the conversation hadn’t mattered.
But it had. For him.
Viper’s gaze ran over Titus before he could stop it.
The space between them felt different now—no longer crackling with hostility, but still charged.
Whatever shift had just happened—it wasn’t going away.
The wind had died down—at least in bursts—and Titus stretched in the bright afternoon sun.
They’d waited out the worst of it. By the time it broke, the sun was high and mean.
