A flicker crosses his face too quick to name. “I had a brother.”
Had.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
He inclines his head once, accepting the sympathy, but this time he doesn’t shut it down immediately. His gaze drifts past me, toward the city below, jaw tightening just slightly.
“He should still be here,” Khai says quietly. Not angry. Not loud. Just certain. “Liam wasn’t weak. He was… unprepared for the kind of world he was born into.” A pause. “He trusted the wrong things. The wrong people.”
I can hear what he doesn’t say.
“That world,” he continues, voice lower now, edged with something dangerous, “doesn’t forgive hesitation. It takes what it can and calls it collateral.” His mouth curves without humour. “My father called it inevitability.”
The word lands cold.
I swallow. “And you didn’t.”
“No,” he says. “I learned.”
The silence stretches, heavy with everything he’s choosing not to give me. I look at him, really look at him, and the answer is there, written in the tension of his shoulders, the restraint in his hands.
“You loved your brother,” I say softly.
His eyes snap back to mine.
For a heartbeat, the control slips. Just enough.
“I did,” he says, unguarded and absolute. “I still do.”
Then the wall slides back into place, smooth and practiced.
“And you,” he says, deliberately shifting the weight away from himself. “Why the ICU?”
The question is gentler than I expect. Not deflecting, redirecting.
I answer honestly. About the quiet. The stillness. He listens like every word matters.
The wind shifts. My napkin slips.
We both reach for it.
Our fingers brush, brief, electric.
This time he doesn’t pull away immediately. His thumb rests lightly against my knuckle, not pressing, not claiming. Just there. Waiting.
I don’t move either.
“You see things people try to hide,” he murmurs.
“I do,” I reply. “And you live like you expect the worst.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. Dark. Knowing.
“Careful,” he says quietly. “That kind of observation can be dangerous.”
I meet his gaze, pulse skidding. “I didn’t come here to be careful.”
Something sharp and intent flashes behind his eyes.
