Her own breath syncs. Mine follows.
She looks at me, really looks. “Stop doing that.”
“Can’t.”
The hum folds inward. Stabilizes.
Her pupils dilate. “This isn’t ink,” she whispers.
“No.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t fully know.”
Her thumb traces the line slowly. “More like language…”
I follow the ripple of silver her touch chases with my eyes.
“Or the spaces in between.”
“You mean, like the rocks?”
She nods.
I hold my breath.
And for a suspended second, we both lean in. Her lips part. My hand rises to her waist. The hum swells.
And then… she steps back. Hard.
Emotionally first. Then physically.
“No,” she says.
Not to me. To herself.
“This is too much.”
The pain returns faintly. Manageable.
She wraps her arms around herself. “Take me back.”
My exhale comes out ragged, fists clenched at my sides.
Control, Ash.
But it takes longer this time. It also takes something from me.
I walk her to the porch in silence. Searching for words that don’t make sense no matter how I organize them.
The air feels heavier now. More watchful.
She steps inside. Turns toward me. For a second, I think she’ll say something. Invite me in to talk.
Instead, she shuts the door.
I hear the lock slide into place. The sound lands harder than any pain spike.
