"Right," I muttered.
He stood, shifting uncomfortably. Probably trying not to readjust himself.
That satisfied me more than it should have. "Because a black hole—sorry, agravitational singularity—apparently has the cognitive capacity tonoticepeople now."
"It isn't?—"
"It's mass," I cut in. "Collapsed matter. Curvature of spacetime. It doesn't think, it doesn't plot, and it definitely doesn'thunt." My eyes narrowed. "Unlike you."
His jaw tightened.
"You don't get to rewrite physics because it suits your narrative," I continued, heat rising again. "And you definitely don't get to override my brain and call it protection."
"I did what was necessary."
"That's convenient."
"It's true."
"Is it?" I stepped closer, not backing down, not giving him an inch. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like you decided you knew better than me and acted accordingly."
"I did know better."
The certainty in his voice hit harder than anything else. For a second, something cold slid through my anger. Because part of me—a very small, very unwelcome part—remembered the wayit had felt when he'd been inside me. Inside my brain, I mean. Correcting myself mentally, I felt a flush sneak across my face.
No! Absolutely not.I shoved that thought down hard, anger flaring hotter to burn it out.
"You violated my mind," I confronted him, quieter now, but far more dangerous. "You don't get to dress that up as anything else."
"Speaking of dressing…" He made a point of looking my naked body up and down.
I shook my head, "Na-ah! Here, my eyes are here. You don't get to do this after you left me with nothing."
"By the great Abyss, female," he stomped to the bed and grabbed a sheet. "Cover yourself."
I put my fists against my hips, "Or what?" I challenged.
I knew I was at his mercy, but God help me, I might as well have it out with him now. Here.Do your worst, alien god-demon-devil-whatever you are. I've been kidnapped by aliens, put into a pen like an animal, lived for days in fear, and I'm done.
For a moment, something in his expression… shifted. Not anger. Not quite. Something tighter. Controlled. Then it snapped back into place.
"Enough," his voice was hard. But there was no real force behind it. Not like before.
Interesting. I didn't move. Didn't reach for the sheet. Didn't even flinch. If anything, I leaned into it, lifting my chin a fraction higher. He exhaled sharply, as if patience were a resource he was rapidly exhausting. Then he crossed the distance between us in two strides—too fast, too close—and for a split second, I thought…
I didn't know what I expected. But it wasn't this. He stopped just short of touching me, tension coiled in every line of him, then—almost abruptly—wrapped the sheet around myshoulders. Like he was handling something that refused to behave according to expectation. The fabric settled around me, warm from his grip.
I didn't pull it closed. Instead, I looked up at him. A smirk tugged at my mouth. "My nakedness bothering you?"
His jaw tightened. "No."
Flat. Immediate. Too fast. My smirk widened. "Could've fooled me."
His gaze flicked downward—just once—before snapping back to my face, sharper now. "You misunderstand."
"Do I?" I tilted my head. "Because from where I'm standing, you look very concerned about where I am and am not covered."
"This is not about—" He stopped himself. Reset. "It is inefficient."
