He laughs under his breath, delighted.
“Careful,” he murmurs.“You’re going to give yourself away.”
I lean in close enough that only he hears me.“I don’t have anything to give away.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
Then back to my eyes.
“Liar,” he breathes.
Vesper’s voice slices through the moment.“If either of you starts measuring anything in this hallway, I’m leaving you both here.”
Cally’s grin is immediate.“She’s fun.”
I turn away before I do something that ruins everything.
Outside, the sky is gray and damp, Oregon doing what Oregon does—threatening rain without delivering.The air tastes like pine and cold and a future I didn’t ask for.
The sound hits first.
Rotors.
Low at first, then louder, chopping the air into vibration that you feel in your ribs.
Vesper pauses on the steps, looking at the helicopter like it’s both ridiculous and exactly what her life has always been—too much, too fast, never calm.
Cally steps up beside her with easy confidence, hand hovering near her back but not touching, like he’s trying to be good.
I stay on her other side, close enough to catch her if she sways.
She glances between us, lips tightening.
“I swear to God,” she says, voice raised over the rotors, “if I puke in that helicopter?—”
Cally beams.“It’ll be iconic.”
“I will end you,” she says sweetly.
Cally laughs like he’s thrilled.
Vesper looks at me, and there’s a question in her eyes she won’t ask out loud.
Will you let me run?Will you let me pretend I’m fine?Will you let me disappear again?
I shake my head once.
Her throat works.She nods like she hates it.
Then she climbs in.
Cally follows.
I take the last step and duck under the frame, and as I settle into the seat across from him, Cally’s knee brushes mine with the smallest shift of the cabin.
His gaze lifts to mine, bright and full of trouble, like he can feel the line we’re walking and he wants to test how far it bends before it breaks.
I look away.
