“Don’t ask me that.”
“Iamasking. Because I’m out here, showing up, being present?—”
“Present?” I bark a laugh. “You showed upafter. After everything. After the war. Afterhim.”
His mouth twists. “You said he wasn’t mine.”
I bite my lip. Hard. “I said a lot of things.”
“So which part was the lie?”
The bar’s gone quiet. Someone killed the music, or maybe it just died under the weight of our words.
I step around the bar, fists clenched at my sides. “You don’t get to judge me.”
“I’m not,” he says, voice rising. “I’m trying to understand. But you— You keep playing like this is a game.”
“Because if it’s not, then what the hell is it, Troka?”
He steps forward, chest heaving. “It’severything. That’s what it is.”
I look up at him, heart clawing at my ribs.
And then, because I’m stupid, because I’m hurting, because I need to make him bleed the way I’ve been bleeding.
“You don’t even know what you missed.”
The words are out before I can catch them.
He flinches. Just slightly. But I see it.
A crack in the armor.
I backpedal. “Forget it.”
“No,” he says, voice low. “Say it.”
“I’m done talking,” I snap, grabbing my jacket.
“Alaina—”
“I said I’mdone.”
I storm out the back, the night air hitting my lungs like fire. The alley reeks of spilled beer and sour smoke. My hands tremble as I light a cheap stimstick, sucking down the burn.
Footsteps crunch behind me, but I don’t turn.
“Don’t follow me,” I warn.
He stops.
“I wasn’t going to.”
Silence stretches between us, brittle and cruel.
“You have no idea,” I whisper.
“I want to.”
