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That spark.
That thing that’s been building since the dock.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she says.
“Seems like I already did.”
Her eyes narrow.
Dangerous.
Beautiful.
Absolutely not helpful.
“This,” she gestures between us, “is temporary.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Of course it doesn’t.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Neither of us believes that.
Not even a little.
She exhales sharply.
Runs a hand through her damp hair.
“Why are you here?” she asks suddenly.
Not tactical.
Not about the mission.
Something else.
I hold her gaze.
“Because you were there.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
She studies me.
Long.
Too long.
