Which is… annoying.
And also—
Not entirely true.
Because I can see it.
In the tightness of his jaw.
In the way his eyes keep cutting back to me.
He’s worried.
He just doesn’t want to show it.
Too bad.
I already know.
We step inside.
It’s small. One room. Broken table. Old nets in the corner. The faint smell of salt and wood rot lingers in the air.
Through the cracks in the boards, the Adriatic flashes beyond—blue, endless, and completely useless to us right now.
“Clear,” Ronan’s voice comes over comms. “Perimeter’s holding. For now.”
“For now works,” Jase replies.
Then his attention shifts—fully—to me.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mila.”
That tone.
Low. Controlled. Not asking.
I sigh and drop onto the edge of the table.
“Happy?”
“No.”
That… catches me off guard.
He moves closer, already pulling a med kit from his pack.
“Shirt,” he says.
I blink at him.
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
