I don’t answer right away.
Because I don’t know.
Because I hate that Idon’tknow.
He takes a step toward me.
Not fast.
Just close enough that I can feel the heat of him. The scent—smoke, leather, metal. The same scent I once pulled into my lungs like salvation.
His hand rises.
He doesn’t touch me.
Just hovers.
Waiting.
Like he still remembers how I flinch when I’m close to falling.
I step back.
Just once.
And the spark that lit between us cracks, quiet and sad.
I see him take it.
Like a bullet.
I clear my throat. “Pyramus gets to choose. But I… I need time.”
He nods.
Doesn’t argue.
That hurts more than if he’d begged.
I walk to the door.
Hand on the panel.
Then I pause, glancing back over my shoulder.
He’s still there.
Still silent.
Stillhim.
“I hated you,” I whisper.
“I still hate me,” he replies.
The door hisses open.
And I walk out.
