“I didn’t.”
My breath catches.
“I felt you,” he continues. “Before I knew your name. Before I saw your file. There was… resonance.”
“Great,” I mutter. “So I’m a tuning fork.”
“You are more than that. You are a fixed point in a shifting system. You do not blur when observed.”
I stare at him. “That’s… kind of beautiful. And also terrifying.”
He nods.
“You say stuff like that and I can’t tell if it’s romantic or diagnostic.”
“Both.”
My heart skips.
I slide off the bed and sit beside him. The floor is colder than it should be. He’s warm next to me. Too warm. Like a living battery.
“You ever do this before?” I ask. “Break rules. Sit on floors. Watch women sleep.”
He answers without hesitation. “No.”
“Because you weren’t allowed?”
“Because it never mattered.”
That stops me cold.
His eyes meet mine—steady, unreadable. But there’s something there now. Somethingopen.
“Tatek…” I hesitate. “Would you break more rules… for me?”
He doesn’t answer.
Not right away.
Instead, he reaches down, unfastens the comms unit from his wrist, and sets it aside. Then he unclasps his outer jacket—precise, methodical, no flourish—and folds it in one motion.
When he speaks again, it’s quiet. Measured.
“I already have.”
I don’t know what to do with that.
There’s no flourish. No grand declaration. Just… truth.
I lean back against the wall beside him, knees up, arms folded over them. The silence between us isn’t heavy now. It’s something else.
“You always like this?” I ask.
He glances at me. “Like what?”
“Calm. In control. Emotionally constipated.”
He blinks. “I do not have bowel issues.”
