It’s such a simple question. It shouldn’t feel like a trap. But it does, because the honest answer is no, and the easier answer is always yes, and I’m so tired of choosing the easy one.
“I was until about thirty seconds ago,” I murmur, my voice coming out rougher than I intend. My heart is still racing, adrenaline buzzing through my veins, every nerve ending lit up and raw. “You scared the hell out of me.”
A corner of his mouth twitches, guilt flickering across his face. “Had to. You were about to sprint straight into him.”
I huff a quiet laugh, dropping my forehead briefly against his chest before I can stop myself. The contact is grounding and dangerous all at once. He stiffens slightly, not pulling away but not leaning in either, like he’s holding himself on a tight leash that’s already fraying. Beneath my forehead, his heart is beating harder than the rest of him lets on. That knowledge does something to me. Something soft and stupid.
“I heard them talking,” I say after a moment, lifting my head again. “About him. I didn’t know he was coming. I didn’t know anyone knew.”
Jon exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. “I didn’t either. He showed up unannounced. Wanted to check in, said you’d been hard to reach.”
The guilt hits sharp and sudden, slicing clean through the lingering humor. Of course he’s worried. Of course he is. I’ve built an entire life on half-truths and omissions, and now it’s starting to cave in on itself. Every lie suddenly feels heavier because I can hear his voice attached to it.
“I can’t see him,” I say immediately, panic flaring again. “I can’t. Not like this. Not here.”
“I know,” Jon says, softer now. He reaches up without thinking, his knuckles brushing my temple, then stops himself midway like he’s crossed an invisible line. His hand drops back to his side. The aborted touch feels louder than a grab would have. “That’s why you need to disappear for a bit.”
“Disappear,” I repeat faintly. The word feels too familiar. Too close to other rooms. Other locks. Other times I didn’t have a choice.
He seems to hear it in my voice, because his expression tightens. “Not like that,” he says quickly. “Your quarters. Door locked. No one bothers you. I’ll handle him.”
That should reassure me. It should make me feel taken care of. Safe.
Instead, something bitter curls in my chest.
“You always do,” I say before I can stop myself.
His eyes flick to mine, sharp and searching, like he’s trying to decide whether to call me on it or let it slide. The air between us goes tight again, heavy with everything we’re not saying—everything we’ve been circling for months, maybe longer. The space is too small for lies and too dark for anything honest to stay clean.
“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says finally.
I swallow. “I know.”
And that’s the problem.
Because I do know. I know the shape of his care now, and it cuts just as deep as his distance. I know how he hides behind orders when he wants to touch me. I know how he looks at me when he thinks I’m too wrecked to notice. I know enough to be ruined by it.
For a second, I really think he’s going to kiss me again. The space between us narrows, his gaze dropping to my mouth, his jaw tightening like it did before, like it always does right before he pulls away. His hand flexes once at his side. His breath changes. Mine does too. The dark turns hot around us, the air suddenly too thin and too intimate.
Instead, he steps back fully this time, opening the closet door just enough to peer out into the hallway. Cold fluorescent lightcuts across one side of his face, turning him half shadow, half discipline.
“All clear,” he says. Then, quieter, without looking at me, “Go. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”
I hesitate, every instinct screaming to stay right where I am, pressed into the familiar gravity of him, where everything feels quieter and less sharp. Where the walls are close and the world is held out by the simple fact of his body being between me and it. But I nod anyway, because that’s what I’ve always done. Because I’m good at following orders, even the ones that hurt.
As I slip past him, his hand catches my wrist for just a second—light, grounding, gone almost as soon as it’s there.
“Delilah,” he says, low and steady. “We’ll figure this out.”
I look back at him, really look, at the lines carved deeper into his face these past weeks, at the exhaustion he tries to hide behind authority and control, at the man who keeps choosing duty even when it scrapes him raw. I want to believe him. God, I do.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “We always do.”
I walk away before he can answer, before he can see how much that promise costs me, before the silence between us fills up with all the things we’re both too afraid to name.
Chapter 16
Captain Jonathan
