But everything has.
Caiden reached across the distance and made himself present in the one way I can’t neutralise or outrun, and I know with perfect clarity that borders on dread that this is the moment the careful equilibrium I’ve built will shift.
Love, I’ve learned, doesn’t announce itself quietly. It simply makes every choice heavier than it was before.
And it makes you stupid enough to choose it anyway.
THREE
CAIDEN
Something’s been off for a while — weeks, in fact. The part that’s really messing with me is how long it took me to notice.
Mason isn’t here.
He should be in the briefing room. It’s not a formal requirement, and he’s not listed as essential personnel for this slot, but he’s always there anyway. Usually sprawled into a chair, talking shit and filling the gaps by sheer volume alone. He’s been doing it for years.
Today, his chair stays empty.
I keep going. The briefing runs as it should, questions asked and answered, and people disperse with the usual scrape of chairs and low mundane conversation.
Still no Mason.
I tell myself it’s nothing. There are too many reasons why he wouldn’t be here. Different assignment. Late start. A hangover bad enough that even he couldn’t talk his way through it. The explanation doesn’t matter. It’s just where my head goes first.
It’s now mid-morning, and I see him crossing the yard with a clipboard tucked under his arm. He looks fine at first glance. He has the same careless energy as usual, but when he spots me, there’s a moment of hesitation.
“Alright?” he calls, his voice pitched deliberately casual.
“I thought you’d died,” I say. “The briefing was dull without you.”
“Lucky for you, I’ve been roped into something thrilling involving spreadsheets,” he snorts, but it sounds flat.
“That sounds like a punishment.”
“Feels like one.” He shifts the clipboard and glances past me. “Temporary, apparently.”
“Apparently,” I echo. He waits, like he expects me to ask, but I don’t.
“They’re shuffling people about,” he says finally. “Needs of the unit. You know how it is.”
“I do,” which is true. That phrase has covered everything from personality conflicts to quiet demotions to removals no one wants to justify out loud.
Mason nods, relief flickering across his face like he’s glad I didn’t push. “It won’t last,” he adds quickly. “Just until they sort whatever mess they’ve made.”
“Right, I get it.”
He flashes a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyway. Catch you later.” He moves off quickly before I can reply.
I stand there watching him walk away, and I see the way his shoulders slump lower than usual. He hasn’t been reassigned to some dangerous job, which is a relief. That much I’d have heard; this is easier to explain away.
Easier to pretend it isn’t happening.
The common room fills around lunchtime; it’s the usual mix of noise and irritations. I grab a mug; that’s when Mason comes in halfway through a conversation I’m not paying attention to, and drops into a chair like always.
The conversation around him stutters. It doesn’t stop exactly, that would be obvious. It just... slows. A joke trails off unfinished, and one guy stands to refill their drink instead of answering him. Another guy shifts seats, creating distance; no one stops to question it.
Mason keeps smiling, keeps talking, but his timing’s off. No one’s listening, and he knows it. I can see it in the way his eyes flick from face to face, searching for something to hook onto. When he catches my gaze, there’s a flicker of something there, then whatever it was is gone before I can place it.
