“I thought it was just me. That I was making it up. That I was losing my mind because every time you got close I could barely breathe, and every time you pulled away it felt like being skinned alive from the inside.”
I swallow.
“And Ihatedthat I couldn’t explain it. That I couldn’t logic my way around it. That my body was making decisions before my brain could catch up.”
She rubs her eyes.
“You think I don’t know how heavy a bond like that is? You think I don’t already carry the weight of every person I couldn’t save?”
My throat’s dry. The ship hums softly around us, indifferent to the conversation tearing open between us.
“I didn’t want to take your freedom,” I say.
“Then don’t,” she snaps. “But don’tlieabout it either. Don’t pretend it’s not there just because it scares the hell out of you.”
We sit in silence again.
Breathing.
Existing.
I reach slowly into the side compartment and pull out a small data chip. I slide it across the table between us.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“Safe transport. Fresh identity. Full shield profile. If you want to go, no one will stop you. I’ll make sure of it.”
Her eyes flick to the chip, then back to me.
“And if I stay?”
I meet her eyes. “Then we figure it out. Together. No secrets. No martyrdom.”
She leans back, folding her arms.
“I don’t know what I’m choosing yet.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She watches me a long time.
Finally, she reaches out.
Not for the chip.
For my hand.
And this time, when her fingers close around mine, the bond flares warm and steady—not frantic. Not desperate.
Just alive.
She doesn’t say yes.
But she doesn’t let go either.
