The silence cracked between them. For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of wind moving through the terrace vines.
Dax's breathing was uneven and controlled but on the edge. His fingers flexed once against the table before curling into a fist. Chris didn't move.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, but it trembled from his own restraint. "You don't get to shout at me like that. You don't get to use that tone when I'm the one you claim to protect."
Dax exhaled, the sound rough. "You think I don't hate myself for it?"
"Then stop doing it!" Chris's chair scraped sharply against the marble as he stood. "Every time I try to talk to you, you turn it into a command. I can't breathe around you without feeling like you're going to decide what air I'm allowed to take!"
