Her laugh is sharp. “That’s not happening.”
“Then keep dying out here,” I say evenly.
Her jaw tightens, but after a beat she closes her eyes, slow and reluctant. “Happy?” she mutters.
“Not yet.”
I circle her, quiet, controlled, watching the way her body reacts even without sight, the tension in her shoulders, the rhythm of her breathing.
“Tell me what you hear,” I say.
“Wind.”
“Be specific.”
She frowns slightly, focusing harder. “Branches moving.”
“Where?”
She tilts her head. “Left.”
“Good.”
I shift my position, changing angles without making a sound.
“What else?”
The silence stretches before she answers again. “Your boots.”
I glance down. I didn’t make a sound.
Interesting.
“How?” I ask.
“You breathe heavier when you move,” she says, still with her eyes closed.
A slow grin pulls at my mouth. “You’re paying attention now.”
“I told you I was.”
“Not like this.”
She opens her eyes and turns toward me. “You always this demanding?”
“Only when I know what you’re capable of.”
Her gaze sharpens. “Which is?”
I step closer again, closing the distance until there’s nothing left between us. “More than you’re giving me.”
Her breath catches again.
“Careful,” she murmurs. “You’re starting to sound like you believe in me.”
“I don’t believe,” I say quietly. “I know.”
The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with something neither of us is naming.
