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The words hang between us.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
His control slips.
Just enough.
“You don’t get to make me watch that,” he says.
There it is.
Not mission.
Not strategy.
Him.
My breath catches.
“I’m not asking you to watch,” I say.
A step closer.
Close enough now that I can feel the heat coming off him.
“I’m asking you to stand with me.”
His voice roughens. “That’s the same thing.”
“No,” I whisper.
“It’s not.”
For a second—just one—it feels like everything might shift.
Like he might reach for me.
Like I might let him.
Then—
He steps back.
Too fast.
Too controlled.
“I need air.”
The words are clipped, controlled again—but not fully.
He grabs his jacket and heads for the door.
I don’t stop him.
I don’t know how.
