She didn’t say anything right away, but I saw the shift in her face—something gentle softening her expression, like she was absorbing every word. Concern pulled faint lines near her mouth, but it wasn’t pity. It was something else. Something deeper.
“Cavil…” she said quietly, like she wasn’t sure how to carry the weight of what I’d just handed her.
I lifted a hand slightly. “I’m not looking for sympathy,” I said, steadying my tone before it cracked. “It’s just… it’s easier being away sometimes. You know who you are when you’re needed. When you’ve got orders. Structure. But coming back and trying tostay—that’s a different kind of battle. You don’t know where to stand anymore. You start questioning if you ever really belonged to begin with.”
There it was—laid bare between us. The fear. The uncertainty. The ache of trying to build a life in a place that didn’t quite feel like mine anymore.
She breathed in, slow and deliberate, then reached across the table again—her hand finding mine like it had every right to be there. No hesitation this time. Just quiet resolve. Her fingers slipped over mine, warm and solid, grounding me in ways nothing else had in months.
“I can’t pretend to know what that’s like,” she said softly, giving my hand the faintest squeeze. “But… you’re not the only one who’s ever felt out of place.”
It was simple. Uncomplicated. And yet it hit harder than anything else could have.
I swallowed, hard, the lump in my throat thick and unfamiliar. “Thanks,” I said, the word barely more than a whisper.
The candle flickered beside us, casting soft light over the quiet space we’d built together—two people tucked into a kitchen on a winter night, wrapped in silence and something that felt a lot like understanding. Outside, the cold pressed in, but here… here was warmth. A fragile kind of hope that didn’t need to be spoken to be real.
Maybe belonging wasn’t about returning to who I used to be. Maybe it was about building something new—with someone who didn’t expect me to have all the pieces in place.
We sat there in the quiet, fingers still loosely intertwined. Two people. One candle. And a moment that felt like the start of something worth staying for.
Her fingers lingered on mine—warm, steady—but I could feel the shift. Like the air just before a storm breaks, quiet and charged. Whatever came next, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.
“Leo used to talk about you like you’d disappear the second things got hard. Like you were built to leave people behind.”
The words hit harder than I expected. My chest tightened. I pulled my hand back before I could stop myself—like her touch had burned. Not because of what she said, but because it sounded too much like the version of me I used to be afraid was true.
“But I never really believed him,” she added quickly. “Not completely. You don’t feel like someone who runs.”
Her voice was steady, but the weight behind it landed sharp. Her gaze didn’t waver, and for a moment we just sat there—caught in silence so taut I could hear every beat of my own heart like a drum inside my ribs.
Then she broke it. Looked away. “I don’t want anything to change the nature of your relationship,” she muttered, eyes dropping to her sandwich like it could shield her from the weight of everything she’d just opened.
“Quite frankly,” I said, my voice lower than I meant it to be, “you don’t know our relationship.” I paused, the next words clawing their way out. “And after that kiss…”
I didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to. The weight of it hung there—undeniable and electric.
She let out a breath like she’d been holding it for hours. “Cavil… I don’t want to come between you and your brother. I…”
Her words faltered, but I felt them before she said them. My pulse picked up, dread and hope tangling somewhere between my chest and throat.
“I’m scared I’m actually falling for you,” she whispered. The words landed raw. “But I don’t want to be the reason things fall apart.”
It felt like a punch I hadn’t braced for. Not because I didn’t want to hear it. But because Idid.
“Falling for me?” I echoed, the words awkward in my mouth, like they belonged to someone else’s life. Someone who didn’t have scars and shadows and Leo’s voice still buried in the back of his mind.
She nodded, slow and sure, her eyes glossy under the soft kitchen light. “You’re not what I expected when you came back. You’ve changed. There's more than… than I expected. Than I realized."
I didn’t know what to do with that—what to do withher, seeing me that clearly. Like I was someone she could wantnow, not just someone from the past.
I leaned forward, my voice barely a whisper. “Callie?—”
She shook her head quickly, eyes wide and glistening.
“I think you should go,” she said, her tone tight as if every word pained her. She stood suddenly, backing away from the table like it was an anchor pulling her under. “Before this gets harder.”
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and unwelcome. It wasn’t anger I saw in her eyes; it was fear. A protective instinct swirling beneath the surface. I felt the urge to argue rise in me, my jaw tightening with the impulse to push back against this wall she was putting up.
