I had felt it.
In him.
In myself.
That pull. That connection. That…bond.
My throat tightened.
"I—" I stopped, shook my head. "I can't… I'm not there."
"I am aware."
The faintest hint of amusement touched his expression. "I have had longer to come to terms with it. You will soon be able to admit it to yourself, too."
That arrogance again. Despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped me. Silence settled between us again. Different now. Not tense. Just… heavy. Real.
I swallowed.
"Just… come back," I told him.
That was all I could give right now. His hand came up, brushing briefly against my cheek. Careful. As if I might break.
"I intend to," he repeated.
Then he stepped back.
And this time?—
He left.
I stood there, staring after his retreating form, the doors already sealed, the corridor swallowing him whole as if he had never been there at all. Silence rushed in behind him. Too loud. Too empty. I didn't move.
I love you.The words echoed, sharp and impossibly clear, as if he had spoken them again right there behind me. I let out a slow breath, my hand still curled where I had grabbed his shirt, my fingers slowly loosened as if I had to consciously remind them he was gone.
He loved me.
A startled, almost disbelieving laugh slipped out of me.
"Of course he does," I muttered. "Of course, the alien god I've known for—what—a week?—just casually drops that like it's the most natural thing in the universe."
A week. Had it really been a week? It felt like—I frowned, the thought slipped sideways before I could catch it—longer. It felt like longer. Like I'd known him in a way that didn't fit into days or hours or anything that made sense. Which, considering everything else, was not exactly comforting. I dragged a hand through my hair, pacing once across the corridor, then back again, restless energy buzzing under my skin.
He loved me.
The words should have been absurd. Theywereabsurd. Statistically improbable. Logically indefensible. Emotionally reckless to the point of insanity. I pressed my fingers against my temples.
"You don't fall in love in a week," I muttered out loud, as if saying it would anchor it. Make it real. The guards sent sideways glances at me. I ignored them. "You don't just… meet someone, get kidnapped by them, nearly die a few times, and then?—"
I stopped. My stomach flipped. Because that was exactly what had happened. And yet, I closed my eyes, leaning back against the cold metal wall. And yet it didn't feel like only a week. Not when I thought about him. Not when I thought about the way he looked at me. The way heknewthings without asking. The way the bond—no, not a bond, I wasn't calling it that yet—whatever it was between us pulled tight, like gravity finding center.
Time.
A slow breath slipped out of me. He had told me. Time wasn't fixed. Not the way I understood it. Not out here. Not for them. Moments could stretch. Collapse. Fold in on themselves. So what did a week even mean? If something felt real—if itwasreal—did the duration matter? My lips parted slightly.
"That's a dangerous line of thinking," I murmured.
Because if I accepted that—if I allowed that possibility—then I couldn't dismiss what I was feeling as fast. As irrational. As temporary. I couldn't hide behind logic anymore. My chest tightened. Because the truth was, I did feel something.
