The silence stretches. Too long, heavy. I can feel his chest against mine, his fingers tense around mine, and I want to ask everything and nothing all at once.
He finally exhales. Slow. Shaky. Like he’s measuring words before letting them out.
“I—Solene,” he starts, then stops. Swallows. “I’m not… I don’t know how to do this. How to do you. How to—”
I squeeze his hand tighter. Trying to anchor him. Trying to anchor myself.
“You don’t have to know everything,” I murmur. “Just… tell me the truth. Are we… are we surviving, or just existing?”
His jaw tightens. Eyes dart to the floor. “I’m trying. I am. But… Celeste. I keep thinking about her. About what we were. What we—what I—”
I flinch. Heart jabs in my chest. Of course. I knew. I’ve always known. But hearing it… it’s different.
“Etha
