The question hung in the air between us, stark and blunt. Ariana didn’t break her stride, but her shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. The silence stretched, filled only by the crunch of our footsteps on the forest floor.
Finally, she spoke, her voice still flat, but now laced with a weary resignation. “What makes you ask that?”
“You’re here,” I said, the words tumbling out. “You’re risking yourself for me. That’s not protocol. That’s not the Ariana I know. The Ariana I know would have put me down to protect the hideout. So something must have changed. Something must be wrong.”
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Still think you’re a strategist, huh? Even now.” She glanced back at me, her silver eyes glinting. “Maybe the hideout is fine. Maybe I’m just getting soft.”
I shook my
