“You withdrew,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
I laugh softly. “Is there?”
He watches me for a moment, eyes sharp, measuring. “You’re not to involve yourself.”
My grip tightens on the glass. “I haven’t.”
“And you won’t,” he continues. “Not emotionally. Not physically. Not until we understand what we’re dealing with.”
I swallow. “And what do you think we’re dealing with?”
Sol doesn’t answer immediately. That hesitation tells me everything.
“She’s perceptive,” he says finally. “And vulnerable. That combination is dangerous.”
“For who?” I ask.
“For all of us,” he says. “If we’re careless.”
I nod once. “I won’t be.” That’s a lie. “I care about her. I was called away but I didn’t want to go, and you know I had no choice.”
Sol leaves, satisfied enough. I stay where I am, staring at the reflection in the glass until it blurs.
I don’t go and see Lani. I hear her, though. Moving around upstairs later, soft footsteps, drawers opening. Life resuming. Each sound lands like a reminder of what I’m pretending not to feel.
That night, when the house finally settles, I lie awake and let myself admit the truth I’ve been avoiding.
I knew.
From the first moment she walked in, something in me recognised her – not in a claiming way, not in the feral sense the others flirt with, but deeper. Quieter. Like a gravity shift. Like my instincts had adjusted course without consulting me.
That’s why I pulled back.
Not because I didn’t care – but because I cared too much, too fast, and I didn’t trust myself not to ruin her with it.
Distance feels like protection.
But distance doesn’t stop bonds from forming.
It only delays the moment they tighten.
And if she really is what my body insists she is, then all I’ve done is leave her to wake up without me there to explain why everything suddenly feels different.
I don’t know which of us that hurts more. But I know this now, with uncomfortable certainty: whatever this becomes, pretending I’m not part of it won’t keep anyone safe.
It will only make the fallout sharper when the truth finally breaks.
THIRTY-TWO
LANI
I findhim in the kitchen again.
He’s leaning against the counter this time, barefoot, sleeves pushed up, looking like he exists purely to irritate me.
He glances up as I enter and grins like he’s been expecting me.
“Miss me already?”