He watches me carefully.
“No,” he says again.
I glance back toward the viewport, the stars still there, still distant, but somehow less abstract than they felt before.
“I thought freedom meant leaving,” I say.
“And now?” he asks.
I turn back to him.
“Now I think it means choosing where you stay,” I reply.
He holds that for a moment, then nods.
“That’s accurate,” he says.
I almost laugh, a soft, quiet sound that feels unfamiliar in this context.
“Good,” I say.
We stand there for a moment longer, the space between us no longer charged with uncertainty, but something steadier, something that feels like it can hold weight without breaking.
“I’m going to face them,” I say.
“The clan,” he replies.
“Yes.”
“They won’t expect that,” he says.
“I know,” I answer.
“They won’t like it,” he adds.
“I don’t care,” I reply.
That earns a faint shift in his expression.
“I know,” he says.
I step back slightly, not retreating, just creating space to move, to act.
“I’m not your leverage,” I say.
“No,” he agrees.
“I’m not your liability,” I add.
“No.”
“I’m not your weakness,” I finish.
His gaze sharpens slightly.
“No,” he says again.
I meet his eyes.
