“I have questions,” he interrupts, “and I want answers. But only the truth this time. No more half-truths or sideways lies.”
“I’ve never lied to you,” I say, my voice trembling despite my effort to hold it together.
“Maybe not,” he replies, “but you never gave me the whole truth either.”
I don’t counter him.
He’s right, and the silent admission hangs heavy in the space between us.
He swallows audibly before he asks, “The people you’re with now… they’re friends?”
“It took time for me to accept,” I say after a moment of finding my composure, “but yes. They’re good people, trying to right wrongs in a world full of them.”
“That’s a heavy burden for a small group.”
“It is,” I agree, “but things feel… different there.”
“Different how?”
I pause, staring at the back of his head where I know the pattern of his corkscrew curls by heart. “Do you remember how we used to talk about feeling like we were running in place? Like no matter how hard we tried, nothing ever changed, and we were just following the path that was laid out for us?”
He nods, turning his head just enough that I catch the flutter of his lashes.
“After you were gone,” I continue, “the world stopped moving entirely. I was standing there, watching life happen around me while I played the role they expected. When they moved me to Glaston, it felt like I could breathe a little easier. Maybe because I was farther from Ljómur, maybe because I was closer to you—”
“Don’t,” he mutters, the word pained.
My fingers brush the back of his neck in a touch so tentative, I’m not even sure he feels it until he freezes.
He doesn’t pull away, and my foolish hope grows.
“It’s true, though. We said no lies.”
He swallows hard and nods once, and I take it as permission to continue.
“I wasn’t happy… I could never be happy, but it was a step in that direction. When they sent me back to Ljómur, I thoughtfor sure it was going to kill me. The weight of that place… the memories…”
I grow quiet, tracing tiny shapes across his skin and absorbing every ping of static that passes between us. “When we escaped and I saw the place was nothing more than rubble, I was terrified. Any resources I had, any ways to make sure you were okay—”
“Wait,” he interrupts as he turns to look at me. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
“Of course.”
“Why?” he asks.
I search his eyes for a long time, and they’re hard at first. But eventually something inside him caves, and I see the vulnerability he hides so deep.
“You know why,” I finally whisper.
“Youleftme,” he says, his voice catching. “And what’s worse, you blindsided me with it. You could’ve warned me you were going to break my heart.”
“Ihadto do it.”
“Why?” he asks a second time, and it’s just a single word, but it carries so much weight.
I force a swallow and steady my breathing, nodding a few times to collect myself.
“They found out,” I admit.
