“Mine,” I breathe, barely a whisper.
I don’t say it louder. Not yet. Not while Liora stands just down the hall, wrestling with her own fear, her own secrets. Icould force the truth out of her. I could demand answers. I could pin her against the wall, bare my teeth, and tell her I already know.
But I want her to tell me because she trusts me. Not because she’s cornered.
That is… new. For me.
I sit on the floor beside Pepper’s bed. The carpet is rough against my palms, the faint scent of cleaning chemicals lingering. Liora must’ve scrubbed earlier—when she’s anxious, she fights dust like it’s an enemy combatant.
Pepper rolls over. Her hand flops onto my thigh.
“Gyon?” she murmurs, half asleep.
“I’m here.”
“You stay?”
“Yes.”
Her lips quirk in a dream-smile. She squeezes my leg, then drifts deeper.
My breath catches. Something cracks inside me—a break so gentle it almost feels like healing. I rest my hand atop her tiny fingers.
“You’re stronger than you know,” I whisper to her. “And I’ll make sure no one ever sees you as anything but a child.”
A floorboard creaks.
Liora.
I look up. She stands by the door, wrapped in a loose sweater, eyes soft and tired, one hand gripping the frame like she’s holding herself up with it. The faint citrus of her shampoo reaches me even from across the room. Her pulse, uneven. Her breath, unsteady.
She watches us. Not speaking. Not breathing for a moment.
“You… okay?” she whispers.
I nod. “She fell asleep fast.”
“She always does.” Liora leans her head against the wall. “She’s a storm all day and a puddle all night.”
I smirk. “That sounds like someone else I know.”
She stiffens, but not in anger. More like… guilt. Fear. Something she’s tried to control for three years and is running out of space to contain.
She looks away first.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For… being here.”
I rise. The floor shifts under my weight. “There’s nowhere else I would be.”
Her throat works, swallowing something she won’t name.
“She—she really likes you,” Liora says.
“And I like her.”
“I know.” Her voice is thin. “That’s… kind of the problem.”
I tilt my head. “Why?”
