Our eyes meet, and I find myself caught in the moment and almost pinned down by those simple words.
“You left,” she repeats, her voice steadier now, but there’s something underneath it. Something I don’t hear from her often these days. “And that was it.”
I frown slightly. “That was the plan. It’s not like I surprised you with it…I told you prior.”
She looks away, trying to piece those repressed feelings together after all this time. Then she exhales. “I thought that was the last time I’d see you, Zane.”
The admission lands on my shoulders and settles into my skin.
At first, I don’t know what to say to that. In all honesty, that was what I had in mind. I needed to leave and never look back. I refused to get tied to anything that could pull me under again, even if it left her feeling alone. Wraith Peak was killing me, and I needed my freedom.
I glance at her, studying her more closely now. “You didn’t think I’d come back.”
“No, I didn’t,” she says simply. Then, a soft, almost hurt scoff slips from her. “Why would I? You were determined to leave, regardless of what I said.”
There’s something in her voice now I don’t recognize, or maybe I do, but it’s been long enough that I’ve forgotten what it sounds like. I just haven’t heard it directed at me before.
“And that bothered you,” I say.
Her eyes snap to mine, allowing her protective walls to slip back into place again. “Don’t twist it into something else.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I sigh, feeling her pulling away again. “Naia—”
“You left,” she cuts in again, more direct now, while the vulnerability from before already starts to harden into something defensive. “You made your choice. I understood that.”
“But you didn’t like it.”
Her jaw tightens. “That’s not the point.”
“It is if it’s still bothering you.”
“It’s not.”
“Then why bring it up?”
I watch as she hides behind those coping mechanisms of hers in real time. It’s in the shift in her posture, the way her expression closes off, and how that brief flicker of honesty disappears behind something sharper. Despite that briefmoment of vulnerability, she’s trying to seem more controlled now. Unruffled, even.
“I don’t care that you left,” she says finally, her tone colder now. “I care that you came back like this. That you bought me.”
“Because you feel like I took your choice,” I add, already knowing where she stands. “And you think I had an angle.”
She hesitates, then murmurs reluctantly, “Yes.”
“Look,” I say, running a hand through my hair, “I didn’t have a plan when I walked into that room. I saw you, and I acted.”
“Why?”
The question comes out fast, almost like a demand, and for a second, I don’t have a clean answer. I could say it was instinct, or that it was the right thing to do. Maybe even that I couldn’t leave her there. It was all true, but none of it feels like enough.
So I go with the simplest version.
“Because it was you.”
She freezes, just slightly. Then her expression shifts again, suspicion sliding back into place, and it makes me question if she’ll ever believe a word I say. “That’s a terrible answer.”
