“I thought maybe it would… distract her. Change the script. Make me the problem.”
I shake my head slowly, heat rising under my skin.
“I’m not a problem to solve, Vrok. I’m your partner. Or I thought I was.”
“You are.”
“Then stop trying to protect me by leaving me behind. That’s not partnership. That’s martyrdom dressed up like romance.”
He’s quiet again.
I let the silence stretch this time, make him sit in it.
“You didn’t trust me,” I say, softer now. “Not really. You trusted your pain. Your guilt. Your fear. But not me.”
“Ididtrust you.”
“No. You trusted theideaof me. The symbol. The legend. Not the woman standing in front of you.”
He lifts his head then, eyes locking on mine.
“I know who you are.”
“Then stop trying to save me from my own damn story.”
We stare at each other for a long moment.
No wind.
No voices.
Just two people who keep nearly dying for each other but haven’t figured out how to livewitheach other yet.
Finally, he breathes out. “I’m sorry.”
I nod once.
“Good.”
He steps closer. Not touching. Just close enough I can smell the dirt and sweat and blood still drying on his collar.
“Next time,” he says, “we do it your way.”
“No,” I correct. “Next time, we do ittogether.”
His mouth quirks—half smile, half wince. “Even if it’s a suicide mission?”
“Especially then.”
I reach out and take his hand.
It’s calloused. Rough. Scarred. Familiar.
He squeezes once, like an apology written in pressure.
Behind us, the last of the Hooves transport ships lifts into orbit. The roar fades quickly. Quieter than I expected.
We start walking.
