We were still tangled together on the bed when I asked him.
"Have you ever thought about leaving?" I kept my voice low, careful not to shatter the hush between us. "Like… just walking away from all this. The facility. The labs. The politics. All of it."
Nine blinked slowly, not quite sure how to react. I saw the flicker of confusion cross his face, and then—hesitation.
"I don't mean right now," I added quickly. "Just… have you ever imagined something else? Something softer?"
His eyes dropped, thoughtful.
You're scaring him, Nyx warned gently. Not because he doesn't want it. But because he doesn't know if he's allowed to want it.
I reached for his hand again, threading our fingers together.
"I think about it sometimes," I admitted. "Just... a house. Tiny. Wooden, maybe. Out in the countryside. With a little kitchen. A garden I probably forget to water half the time."
His lips curled faintly, like the image amused him despite himself.
"There'd be a porch," I said, painting the picture slowly, like I needed to see it, too. "With one of those old rocking chairs. You'd sit there with a blanket, and I'd bring you something warm to drink. And no one would be watching. No cameras. No doors that lock from the outside."
His smile faded slightly.
I squeezed his hand.
"No missions. No pretending. Just quiet mornings and slow evenings. Maybe a stray cat shows up and refuses to leave."
He looked back at me then, brows drawn just slightly, like the idea confused him. Or maybe scared him. Or maybe both.
He's never had the luxury of dreaming, Nyx murmured. He's only ever existed on someone else's leash.
"You don't have to answer," I said, softer. "I just wanted to know if you've ever thought about it. About freedom."
Nine didn't nod.
But he didn't shake his head either.
He just looked at me like he didn't know how to hold the weight of something that sounded so close to hope.
"I'd build it with you," I said, tracing slow circles into his palm. "If you wanted. A life. Our life. Not the one they gave us. Not the one we were forced to survive."
He shifted closer. His forehead brushed mine in something fragile. Gentle. Unspoken.
I let him take his time.
I could wait.
Because in that moment, I realized something else, too:
It didn't matter if we left tomorrow or ten years from now. What mattered was that he knew he could choose. That he had a say. That no one—not even me—would ever cage him again.
"I'd take you anywhere you wanted to go," I whispered. "Even if it's just across a field where no one knows your name."
There was a pause. Then Nine whispered, "As long as you're there, I'll go anywhere."
Then he leaned in and kissed me—soft and warm, a little clumsy, but real. Real enough to knock the wind out of my chest.
I blinked. "Oh no," I said, deadpan. "You think you can say something that sweet and not get tackled?"
His eyes widened just before I rolled over him, straddling him with a wicked grin.
"No!" he yelped, already half-laughing.
"Too late," I growled, and went straight for the spot under his ribs.
He shrieked like a scandalized kitten, squirming beneath me. "Rhea! That's cheating—!"
"Love is war, Nine," I declared as I launched into full tickle attack.
Nyx cackled somewhere in my head. Finally, some good chaos.
Nine laughed until he was breathless, clutching at my wrists in surrender.
And for a moment—just a tiny one—it felt like we already had that little house in the countryside.