Something emotional. Something that will make it impossible to pretend this is just a job.
Orpheus rises slowly.
“I’ll have Miriam told you’re safe,” he says.
My throat tightens. “She can’t know everything that’s happened.”
“She won’t,” he replies. “But she’ll know you’re not going home tonight.”
I nod faintly.
Orpheus’s gaze drifts over me again, slower now, like he’s taking inventory. Bruises he doesn’t see. Fear he does.
“You’re not just an employee,” he says, almost like he’s speaking to himself.
My breath catches. “What?” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. His eyes flick to mine.
“You were never just an employee,” he corrects, voice lower. “Sibley knew this when she hired you.”
The words settle in my stomach like a stone.
I don’t know how to accept what he’s implying without letting it swallow me whole.
So, I do what I always do when something feels too big.
I deflect.
“You’re going to regret this,” I whisper.
Orpheus’s gaze sharpens. “Regret what?”
“Getting involved,” I say, voice cracking slightly. “You don’t know who you’re protecting.”
His mouth curves faintly. “That’s what you’re afraid of.”
I look away.
Because the part of me that’s been running isn’t just running from Talos.
It’s running from everything I used to be tangled in. Everything I used to see. Everything that still clings to me like smoke.
Orpheus steps closer again, and I feel it, the pull of him, the gravity.
He reaches out, fingers brushing my cheek, wiping away the last of my tears.
The touch is gentle.
It makes my throat tighten all over again.
“I don’t care,” he says quietly. “Whatever you think you’re hiding, whatever you think you are, it doesn’t change this.”
“This,” I whisper.
His eyes lock on mine. “You’re a vulnerability. One I can’t let go of. Not anymore.”
The word should insult me. It doesn’t.
