"They saved my life."
"And now you're playing house?" His voice dropped, vicious and controlled. "You think you belong here? You're embarrassing yourself. We need to get out of here and you're practically whoring yourself out to a bunch of cavemen. Have you forgotten why we're here?”
I stood very still for a moment, letting Nathan’s words land, letting the familiar sting of them spread through my chest the way it always had. I'd trained myself to absorb it quietly, to smooth my expression over so the hurt didn't show, to find the diplomatic response that would de-escalate and keep the peace and cost me nothing but my own dignity.
Old habit. Old, ugly habit.
"No," I said.
Nathan blinked. "What?"
"No." I kept my voice level, but I could feel something hardening underneath it. "I haven't forgotten why we're here. I've been here every day, Nathan. Learning the language, building trust with these people, which is the only reason they haven't thrown us out on our ears during their lean season. While you've been working on the scanner, I've been making sure we still have shelter and food and people kind and willing to give it to us, despite the way you’ve treated them."
“Really?” he snapped. "Because from where I'm standing, you're making us vulnerable. Fraternizing with the locals, forgetting that we have a mission, that we need to gethome. You think they care about you? You're a curiosity, Ellie. A pet. And the second we're not useful anymore, they'll throw us out to die."
"Nathan—"
"The scanner is close. Three, maybe four days. I've been working every hour of available light and I think I've isolated the—" He stopped himself. "Never mind. The point is, we're nearly ready to move. I need you focused. I need you available to translate when I need it, not sitting around playing games with children and—" he made a gesture toward Daska that managed to convey contempt in a single flick of his wrist—"that."
"His name is Daska."
"I don't care what his name is."
"I know."
Nathan's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I know you don't care. About Daska, about Rivik, about any of these people. They're obstacles to you. Resources." I paused. "Just like I was."
The muscle in his jaw jumped. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Make this about us." His voice dropped further, took on that particular edge I remembered from late nights in his office, when the door was closed and he was tired and I'd said the wrong thing. "This has nothing to do with us. This is about the mission. About getting home alive."
"I am trying to get home alive. I'm doing it by not alienating the only people standing between us and Broken Ridge wolves deciding we're fair game."
"Broken Ridge." He said it like I'd made it up. "You've been here five weeks and you've gone completely native. Listen to yourself."
"Nathan—"
"No." He stepped closer, and I had to stop myself from stepping back. That was the old reflex, the one that had kept the peace for three years, the one that had made me smaller and quieter and easier to manage. "You listen to me. We are leaving. In four days, maybe five. I need you ready."
"Dev can't walk that distance yet."
"Dev will manage."
"Nathan." I kept my voice steady, though my pulse had kicked up. "Dev has a broken leg that's been healing for less than five weeks. He cannot walk a full day's travel over rough terrain. Daska said—"
"I don't give a damn what he said." The words came out sharp and fast, and I saw the effort it cost him to pull himself back from the edge of something louder. "He's a—he's not a doctor, Ellie. He's a man who grinds up plants. Dev will be fine."
“You don't listen." I rolled my eyes, turning away. "You never listen."
He grabbed my arm and yanked me back round, leaning down to shout in my face. "Because you never say anything worth listening to!"
“Nathan, let go. You’re hurting me!”
His fingers had closed around my forearm hard enough to hurt, and he was still leaning down into my face, close enough that I could see the sleeplessness carved into the lines around his eyes, the desperate, fraying edge of a man who was losing control of something and knew it.
