Hex POV
I was staring at the dashboard when the car door opened.
I didn't look up.
"I don't want to fight," Marco said.
I glanced sideways.
He was standing awkwardly beside the car.
"Then don't," I replied.
Silence.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, like ripping off a bandage. "For the cake."
I didn't respond.
"And for pushing you."
Still nothing.
"And for wishing you died."
That one lingered.
I finally looked at him.
"You meant it," I said.
He swallowed. "I was angry."
"So was I."
The streetlights flickered on above us.
He shuffled his feet.
"I don't want us to hate each other," he muttered.
I studied him.
We weren't friends.
Not really.
But we were two kids standing outside a police station while our lives cracked open.
"I don't accept your mom as mine," I said firmly.
"I know," he replied quietly.
"That doesn't change."
"Okay."
"We're not close."
"Okay."
"But," I added, "we can be on good terms."
He nodded slowly.
"Good terms," he repeated.
We stood there in silence.
Not enemies.
Not brothers.
Not friends.
Just… something in between.
And for now?
That was enough.