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I chuckle, keeping my eyes on the road. "If by freedom you mean escaping a glittering cage for a quiet one, then yeah, sure."
Her laughter is light, a stark contrast to the heavy tension that's been building since we left her mansion. I can tell she's trying to make this easier—on both of us. But old habits die hard, and I'm a master at building walls.
The sports car's engine hums a steady bass line beneath our dialogue—a soothing backdrop to our uneasy duet. The leather of the steering wheel is cool under my palms, and I relish its firmness, a reminder of control in a situation where I feel anything but.
"Ever miss it?" she asks suddenly. "Military life?"
I glance at her profile silhouetted by the dashboard's glow. "Miss it? Can't say I do."
She studies me with those perceptive eyes. "But there's got to be something you miss about... before."
I keep my response noncommittal. "Before was another life."
She nods slowly, absorbing my words—or lack thereof—like she's piecing together a puzzle only she can see.
The silence stretches again, but it's different now—charged. I sense her curiosity gnawing at her restraint; it's palpable even as she sits quietly by my side.
Sasha shifts in her seat, her voice softer when she speaks again. "I'm not trying to pry... I just... You are trying to save me, to keep me safe. And all I know about you could fit on one side of a business card."
I give a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "Well, that's all there is to know."
Bullshit.
The dashboard illuminates her frown as she turns away, gazing out into the darkness beyond the window. I can tell she doesn't buy it—not for a second.
A quiet voice inside me whispers that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let someone in again—to share the pieces of myself I've kept locked away for too long. But old fears are stubborn beasts.
We ride in silence for a while longer, the miles ticking away beneath us like seconds on a time bomb—one neither of us knows how to defuse yet.
The night wraps around the car like a shroud, and the hum of the engine is the only thing filling the silence. It's a kind of quiet that makes you think too much, or maybe just enough.
"Do you ever feel like your life's one big performance?" Sasha's voice cuts through the stillness, a little too loud in the confined space. She chuckles, but there's a tremor in it that speaks of something raw. "I mean, here I am, Sasha the pop star, but sometimes I don't even know who that is."
I steal a glance at her. "We all wear masks, don't we?"
She nods, staring into the dark like it's got answers. "When I was a kid, I had this crippling stage fright. Would puke before every recital. My mom thought I'd never make it."
I smirk, easing my grip on the wheel. "Look at you now."
"Yeah." She laughs, a real one this time. "Turns out throwing up is a hell of a motivator."
The tension between us lightens for a moment, and something in me wants to keep that feeling going.
"I had my own stage once," I say before I can stop myself.
Her head snaps toward me. "Yeah?"
"Field ops. The stakes were... shit, they were life or death." The words are out now, and there’s no pulling them back.
Her eyes are wide in the dim light, reflecting stars that have no business being this close to earth. "What happened?"
I can feel the weight of her gaze as heavy as my own heartbeat. It's been years since I talked about it—to anyone.
"Operation went south," I say with a tightness in my chest. "Good men died—men under my command."
She doesn't say anything for a moment, just letting the silence sit heavily between us.
"I'm sorry," she whispers finally.
