Even when I was cruel.
He never called me out.
Not once.
And the idiot still went and made alist.
I grab my compad and punch in the emergency contact. The one he gave me—his civilian handler post-discharge. A woman named Nira with the bedside manner of a sleep-deprived basilisk.
It rings twice.
“Nira Vonn, post-service integration command. Who’s bleeding?”
“Where’s Troka?” I demand, skipping every pleasantry.
There’s a pause.
“Southland?”
“You know damn well who this is.”
A sigh. Paper shuffle. “He said this might happen.”
“Then where is he?”
“He came in this morning asking for a leave-of-absence voucher,” she says, voice neutral like she’s reading a traffic report. “Said he needed to clear his head before he broke something. Or someone.”
The words land like cold bricks in my gut.
“Did he saywhere?”
“No. Just left this note for you.”
There’s a beep. File incoming.
I open it.
Alaina,
I didn’t leave because I don’t love you.
I left because I do.
I can’t keep standing in your doorway pretending I don’t hear you locking the door from the inside.
You said it wasn’t mine. But I never asked. Because it didn’t change how I felt.
I would’ve raised him even if he had six arms and purple scales and belonged to a rival bloodline.
But you didn’t trust me enough to let me in.
And that breaks something I don’t know how to fix.
So I’m giving you space.
Not running. Not quitting.
But I won’t play soldier at your emotional barricades anymore.
