I take the note.
I know our first meeting wasn't good.
But can we start again?
Start again.
The phrase hangs between us—small. Fragile. Absurd. I stare at the words until they blur, the pencil marks swimming against the cream of the paper. I still don't understand.
What does he mean by start again?
I lift my gaze slowly.
He's watching me.
Those eyes—brown, deep, impossibly patient—waiting for an answer. No tension in his shoulders. No crease in his brow. Just… calm. The same maddening calm he's had since the day he stepped off that helicopter.
What the hell is wrong with him?
Does he not understand?
A moment ago—I threatened him. I'll make you suffer. Stay away from me. And he just stood there. Took it. Let the words fall against him like stones into still water.
Now he's asking me to start again.
Like the past weeks never happened. Like my hatred means nothing. Like my anger is just weather—something that passes, nothing that touches.
