“No, it’s not funny.”
“You officially get the title of ‘shit at comfort,’” he snorts.
“Hard-earned, I’d say. I put some right effort in for that title.”
Hehuffs out a quiet laugh at that, finally easing a little tension out of his shoulders. He studies my face for a second as if he’s internally checking something.“Thanks for not saying anything, Caiden,” he says, sounding slightly lighter.
“Anytime, Connor.”
“Whoa, you never call me that. Are we besties now?”
“Sure,” I laugh. “But I’m not braiding your hair.”
“No? That sucks for me then,” he laughs. “I mean it. Thanks for being a mate, God knows I need one right now.” He stands up, and I watch him leave. He looks like himself again.
Almost.
That evening, on the way to comms, I overhear more people talking about Mason. They’re speaking in the careful, moderate tones of men who assume they’re being completely reasonable. Sadly, they see me coming andmove on to something else. I stand there longer than I probably should, every outward sign of calm in place while something inside me is screaming with rage. It’s in that moment that what I feared is confirmed.
Someone else must have seen.
But there’s been no accusation, no evidence, no confrontation. Just a series of adjustments made quietly enough that no one can point to a single moment where the line was crossed.
In comms, I open my inbox and read Ari’s reply. I think about the way he measures risk, like breathing. About how many times I dismissed that as him being paranoid instead of down to experience. I compose a message, then delete it. Write another. Delete that as well.
None of them sound normal enough. Every sentence either reads too careful or not careful enough, and suddenly even typing his name feels stupidly loaded.
In the end, I lean back in the chair and stare at the screen for a while before forcing myself to stop thinking and just write the fucking email.
From:[email protected]
Date:Friday, February 2, 1996, 22:47
Subject: RE:Sneaky Russian
—Ari
I’m glad you waited. I like knowing you were there, and I’m sorry I made you wait this long.
I don’t mind the delays. I know what you need to do. Just knowing that you’re on the other end of this, somewhere, is enough.
What you said about Mason, I didn’t realise how tense I had been replaying everything until I read your last email, and it made me feel a little better.
You have a habit of doing that.
Don’t let it go to your head.
There’s something else I haven’t quite worked out how to say properly, but I’ll try.
Being back here has made it obvious that whatever this is, it isn’t a temporary thing for me. It doesn’t switch off because there’s distance.
I don’t know if it’s the same for you, but I guess this is me asking.
I don’t know what that means in practical terms. I don’t know if we’re meant to be patient or reckless or somewhere in between. I don’t know if this is something we’re building toward or not.
I just know I don’t want to misjudge it.
