Not declared.
Not spoken.
But there.
Alive.
I step closer. One pace. Then another.
And I nod.
Not mechanically.
Not out of duty.
With intent.
“Then I stay with you,” I say, my voice low. “Whatever happens.”
The space between us shifts.
Her eyes widen just slightly—not in surprise, but in the shock of something hoped for and not quite believed. Her lips part, and I think she’s about to speak.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she exhales. Quiet. Controlled. And in that exhale I hear everything she’s not saying.
I feel it.
She closes the distance between us with a step that brings her within arm’s reach. She doesn’t touch me.
But gods, she’sclose.
I can smell the faint charge of ozone clinging to her skin. Can see the tension vibrating through her shoulders. Every breath she takes aligns with mine.
If she touches me again, I won’t be able to stop what comes next.
Not out of lack of control.
Out of choice.
I wouldchooseit.
Chooseher.
The moment stretches like filament pulled taut between two sparks.
She looks up at me, and her expression softens. Her hand lifts—only slightly. Then stops.
We stand there. Suspended. Teetering.
And I realize: denial is a closed circuit.
You can only hold it so long before it burns itself out.
CHAPTER 9
MARA
