Her gaze flicks briefly toward the door before returning to me. “You always state the obvious when you don’t want to answer something.”
I shut the door harder than necessary. The cabin rattles softly. I set the rope near the hearth and strip off my wet gloves carefully. “You always ask me something I don’t want to answer.”
Sloane glances at my arm, noticing immediately. “You reopened it again?”
“It’s fine.”
“No,” she says quietly. “It isn’t.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I grunt, refusing to look at her. I busy myself with the fire instead, crouching to adjust the logs though they don’t need adjusting. Movement, task, focus. That’s how you get through conversations like this.
Behind me, paper rustles softly. She asks, “Why didn’t you hate him?”
The question hits hard enough to stop me cold.
Sloane’s voice softens slightly. “If he endangered your team… if he broke formation… why cover for him afterward?”
The fire crackles softly between us. I stare into it too long before answering. “Because he died there.”
“That’s not enough.”
No, it isn’t. I straighten slowly and turn toward her.
She’s holding one of the reports in her lap, brows drawn together tightly. Frustration, grief, and determination tangle across her face as if she’s trying to force the world to make sense.
I could make it make sense.
But at what cost?
“You think this ends clean?” I ask quietly.
“No.”
“Good.”
Her jaw tightens. “I still deserve the truth.”
The word “deserve” almost makes me laugh. Nobody deserves this truth. Nobody comes away from it clean either.
Thunder cracks closer now. The lights flicker once overhead. Not enough sunlight lately to support the solar.
Sloane doesn’t look away from me. I grab a kerosene lantern, light it, then return her gaze.
The room suddenly feels smaller. Heavier. Like the storm outside found its way indoors.
“You’re still not telling me everything,” she says carefully.
I say nothing.
“You’re sanitizing it.”
Still nothing.
Her eyes sharpen. “And not for yourself.”
The air leaves my lungs slowly. She’s too close. Way too close.
I move toward the kitchen before she can read my face, grabbing the coffee pot just for something to do with my hands.
