Kaia says nothing, and I could leave it there.
Instead, I hear myself say, “I had men under my command die on a rescue.”
She stills.
“There was a fire. The structure was failing, and I made the call to push farther.”
The old memory tightens across my scars.
“I got some of them out. Not all.”
Her face changes.
“I survived. They did not.”
“Zain.”
“Since then, when something matters too much, I get distance before I can lose it.”
Kaia watches me for a long moment.
“That sounds lonely.”
The words land harder than comfort would have.
I look away.
“It works.”
“No. It functions.”
My gaze returns to hers.
She gives a small shrug.
“That is not the same thing.”
For once, I have no answer.
Her attention shifts to the coffee table.
The sketchbook.
She looks at me.
“You saved it.”
“Yes.”
“Did you look inside?”
“No.”
Some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
Then I add, “I saw the painting.”
Her entire face changes.
