I ride home slow.
Cassia knows something's wrong. She keeps turning her head like she's checking on me, ears flicking backward to catch my mood.
I'm not crying.
Should be, maybe. But I'm too busy replaying every second of what just happened at the silo.
The way Legion touched me. Rough, yes. Desperate, absolutely.
But underneath all of it—underneath the commands and the dirty talk and the way he used my body like he was trying to prove something—there was goodbye threaded through every thrust.
I liked it.
That's not the problem.
I liked how rough he was. Liked being degraded, and claimed, and fucked like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
The problem is I don't know why.
Why tonight felt different.
Why he needed me that way right now.
Why he apologized after—called himself filthy and me clean when we both know better.
Something happened.
Something he decided not to tell me about.
And I let him fuck me instead of demanding answers.
Cassia's hooves hit the dirt in steady rhythm. Four-beat walk. Slow and unhurried because I'm in no rush to get back.
I lean forward slightly, stroking her neck.
"I'm a coward," I tell her.
She snorts. Doesn't disagree.
Because I am.
Legion was spiraling right in front of me and I chose to let him deflect with nostalgia and sex instead of pushing him to tell me the truth.
Why should he tell me anything?
What have I actually done to earn that kind of trust?
The thought settles heavy in my chest. Makes it hard to breathe.
I saved his life—but that was selfish. Pure fucking selfishness.
He was dying and I threw money at doctors because I couldn't bear to lose him. Couldn't imagine waking up in a world where Legion Kane wasn't breathing.
That wasn't generosity.
That was survival instinct.
I needed him alive the same way I need air.
