She closes her eyes. “That’s all you need to know.”
I stare at her like I can will the truth out of her bones. “This about the Alliance?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She’s silent.
“It’spersonal,” I snarl. “Iknowit is.”
She looks up, finally meeting my gaze. “Of course it is.”
My jaw twitches.
“So take it,” I whisper. “Whatever it is. Whatever you need. But don’t pretend this is clean. Don’t stand there and act like it’s notmeyou’re asking.”
Her lips part.
I can see it—right there, behind her eyes.
The truth.
Ready to burst.
But she swallows it again. Like she always does.
And I hate how much I still want to touch her.
The injector is still lying in pieces on the floor when she kneels to pick it up.
Hands trembling, jaw tight. Not crying—never crying.
I stand there, watching her patch the damn thing back together like the world depends on it. Maybe it does.
I sigh. “Show me.”
Her head jerks up. “What?”
“You said you need something. Take it.”
She freezes, the half-mended casing flickering blue between her fingers. “You don’t even know what?—”
“Don’t care.” I strip off my gauntlet and shove my sleeve to the elbow. “Just tell me where.”
She hesitates. The air between us feels charged, humming like the seconds before a sandstorm hits. Then she nods once and clears a space on the table.
“Sit,” she says, voice so small it barely makes it through the static hiss of the generator.
I sit. Metal creaks beneath my weight. The whole camp outside sounds far away—muffled engines, someone laughing too loud, the night wind dragging grit across the tin walls.
She readies the injector. The needle glows faint amber now that the circuits are re-aligned. It smells faintly of ozone and old blood.
“This’ll hurt,” she murmurs.
I grin without humor. “Everything does.”
She presses a cool pad against the inside of my arm—sterilizer, probably. It bites cold, then the heat blooms behind it. Her hand steadies against my skin. The touch burns in a way I haven’t felt in years.
