Naomi POV
I do not know how long I cry.
Minutes. Hours. Time loses meaning when your chest is cracking open.
Henderson just stands there. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me fall apart. He does not move closer. He does not offer a tissue. He just stands there awkwardly, like a man who has walked into a room and forgotten why.
I guess emotions are strange to him. He does not know anything about how to comfort people. His world is guns and loyalty and quiet threats. Tears do not belong in his language.
But I cannot stop.
I sit on the edge of my bed. My shoulders shake. My hands cover my face. The sobs come from somewhere deep, somewhere that has been holding pain for too long.
"I'm so stupid," I say between gasps. "Why did I let myself get carried away by nonsense?"
