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Her chin tilts up, something quiet and stubborn in the way she meets my gaze head-on, the way she studies me like she’s looking for something beneath the words, beneath the restraint, beneath the sharpness I use as a shield.
It makes my jaw clench. It makes my fingers twitch, aching to close around something, a weapon, a throat, something tangible that I can fight, something that isn’t her.
But I feel the bond pulling. A tether I will never let tighten.
Luna shifts slightly, her arm brushing against mine, and it’s the smallest thing, so fucking small, but I feel it like a brand, like an unraveling.
"Then why do you look at me like that?"
Her voice is softer now, almost thoughtful, and it is that, not the question itself, that makes something coil tight in my chest.
I exhale slowly, deliberately, and look away first. Because this is not a war I am willing to fight. And it sure as hell isn’t one I am willing to lose.
The words leave my mouth like a blade unsheathed, sharp and final. A declaration. A death sentence. A lie.
"You will never have me."
She stills. Not in fear, never in fear. But something shifts, subtle, like the crack of ice spreading across a frozen lake. A fracture forming, slow and inevitable. I should stop there, let it be enough, let the weight of my words sink in and rot. But I don't. I never do. I want to see her break.
"I will never bind myself to you."
She doesn’t react. Not outwardly. But I know how to wound. I know where to place the knife, how to twist it. I lean in, dropping my voice to something cruel, something that slithers beneath her skin like venom.
"I will never choose you."
This time, I see it. The smallest shift in her eyes, a flicker of something, pain? No. That would be too easy. Pain can be soothed. Pain can be stitched back together. This is something deeper, something worse. This is understanding.
But I’m not done.
"I’d let you die before I saved you."
That’s the kill shot. The one meant to sever this thing between us before it can sink its claws any deeper.
And yet,
She doesn’t flinch.
Not even a little.
She just looks at me. Not with rage. Not with sadness. Not even with disappointment.
With knowing.
With certainty.
Like she sees past every shield, every wall, every cruel, carefully placed word. Like she hears the things I won’t say beneath the things I do.
"You’re lying."
It lands like a blade between my ribs. A precise, calculated strike. Not wild. Not desperate. Just true.
I scoff, let my lips curl into something dismissive, something arrogant and detached. "Believe whatever you want, little Binder."
A warning. A severance. A final, irredeemable cut.
And yet,
When I turn away from her, my hands are fists. When I walk, I feel her still standing there, watching me, waiting. And when the bond between us pulls, desperate, aching,