His brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound voluntary.”
“No.”
“Then why accept it?”
Because eventually survival and acceptance begin resembling each other closely enough that separating them becomes difficult.
I could not explain that properly in English.
“Because after enough time,” I said, choosing my words with care, “endurance begins to feel natural.”
His brow furrowed. “And you’re okay with that?”
In Velkaran there were separate words for acceptance freely chosen and acceptance forced by circumstance.
English blurred them together badly.
“Yes,” I said.
Dean looked unconvinced. I couldn’t blame him.
It was not the answer I would have given in my own language.
He watched me for another long moment before the corner of his mouth lifted.
“So this is your version of ‘not optimal.’”
The line caught me off guard badly enough that a reluctant smile escaped before I could suppress it.
“Yes. That would be correct.”
His expression brightened at the reaction. “Wow. My translations are improving.”
“Marginally.”
“Give me another week.”
“You remain overconfident.”
His grin widened.
Mine threatened to do the same.
His smile is like sunshine.
The warmth that followed felt unfamiliar, as though I’d spent so long bracing for cold that I’d forgotten there were alternatives.
The anthem moved toward its final orchestral swell while another track queued beneath it.
Dean tilted his head. “Definitely doesn’t sound like the Star-Spangled Banner.”
I hesitated before asking the question forming in my head.
“Does your anthem feel heavy to you?”
His expression changed, surprise flickering there before thoughtfulness replaced it.
“It matters,” he said slowly. “Representing your country always matters. But…” He searched briefly for the wording. “Not like this.”
