“Not for you.”
A lie. Not entirely. The worst lies always keep one foot in truth and Kavor hears that footstep, but he doesn’t call it out. That hurts.
“I know,” he says.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You look at me like?—”
I stop. He waits. He always waits, damn him.
“Like what?” he asks when I continue not responding.
Like I matter apart from use. Like my hunger offends you personally. Like my blood has rewritten the world. Like you could make wanting feel less like theft.
“Like you think I belong to you,” I say instead.
His face hardens, but not with anger. With pain. It’s gone fast, but I see it.
“You do not,” he says, his voice rough.
“I know that.”
“No.” He steps back again, farther this time, both hands open at his sides. “Wanting you safe does not make you belong to me.”
My chest tightens.
“You do not belong to me because your blood woke the epis. You do not belong to me because I hear your breath before my own. You do not belong to me because every instinct I have has begun turning toward you.” The tunnel seems to narrow around us. He swallows once. Hard. “I am the danger if I forget that.”
I cannot move. I cannot speak. My body has become a door with something huge pressing against the other side.
Kavor’s voice drops.
“No. Not mine. Not unless you choose it.”
The words move through me like the first cool draft after heatstroke. Not soft. Not gentle. Necessary. I should feel relieved, and I do.
That is the problem. Relief leaves space behind it. Want moves into that space. I look away before he sees too much, but it is too late. He sees. Damn him, he always sees.
The wrong rhythm pulses in the distance. Once. Pause. Again. The sample answers with a faint blue beat. I clutch my injured arm against my ribs.
“We need to move,” I say.
My voice is almost steady. Almost. Kavor inclines his head. He doesn’t touch me or argue. He does not claim the thing he has just refused to take. He only picks up my pack, the map, and the sample, carrying too much because I let him.
Because I chose it. That is different. That is dangerous.
We turn toward the westward passage, toward the blank place on the map, toward the old structures under the City. Kavor walks beside me. Not ahead. Not behind. Beside.
And now I know exactly why that is worse.
18
KAVOR
Sera keeps moving until her body begins stealing from places pride cannot reach.
