Liora sat in the corner, silently wrapping her arm with the clean cloth Aeron had left behind without realizing it.
The shallow cut burned.But pain was nothing new.
She had lived in pain.Grew up in it.Learned how to carry it like a second skin.
But this pain was different—not because of the wound, but because of the silence that followed.
He hadn't come back.
Not for hours.
The small camera in the top corner blinked red. She could feel his eyes there, watching. Always watching.
She lifted her head toward it.
"I thought you'd try harder," she said softly, not sure if he'd hear it. "I thought you were good at breaking people."
She glanced down at the wrapped wound.
"Or maybe I'm already broken," she whispered. "Too broken for even you to enjoy."
Aeron stared at the screen from behind his wall of darkness.
He hadn't moved in hours. Just sat there. Watching her. Replaying her voice again and again in his head.
She didn't scream.Didn't beg.She wrapped her wound like someone who'd done it before—many times.
"Too broken for even you to enjoy…"
Why did that sentence sound like a punch to his chest?
Why did her voice sound so familiar?
Like the part of him that once wanted to be saved.
No.
He shook his head.
She was a lie. Like all the others. Like his mother.
"You said that too," he whispered, staring at the screen. "All of you."
That evening, the door opened again.
Liora didn't look up.
Aeron entered slowly, eyes unreadable. He was holding a small white container. He placed it on the floor beside her—just out of reach.
Antibiotic cream.
"Why?" she asked quietly.
He said nothing.
"Why leave this?" she asked again. "You already cut me. You want me to suffer, don't you?"
"I don't want you to die from infection," he muttered.
She gave a small, bitter smile.
"That almost sounds like concern."
He looked down at her. Eyes dark, hollow—but unsteady.
"You're still pretending," he said sharply.
"Pretending what?"
"To be innocent. To be kind. To care."
"Why would I pretend any of that here?" she asked, gesturing at the small room. "Do you think I'm trying to impress you? Or survive you?"
"Everyone lies when they want to live," he said through clenched teeth.
She looked him in the eye.
"Maybe I wanted to die," she said softly. "But you made it messy. You didn't kill me. You watched me. You fed me. You stitched my cut with medicine. You're the one who's pretending."
That hit him like a blade.
He turned away suddenly.
"You don't know anything about me," he hissed.
"I don't," she agreed. "But I know what pain looks like. I see it every time you look at me like I'm a ghost you don't want to remember."
He froze.
That silence between them came back again.
Heavy.Charged.Different.
"What did she do to you?" Liora asked softly.
Aeron's fists clenched at his sides.
"You talk too much."
"And you hide too much."
He turned to her suddenly, grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and yanked her close. Their faces inches apart.
Liora didn't flinch.
"Do you think I won't hurt you again?" he growled.
"No," she whispered. "I think you already did. But not like you meant to."
His grip loosened. His hand trembled for a second. Then he let her go and backed away—like her skin had burned him.
Later that night, she used the ointment.
Not because she wanted to live.
But because something told her… someone still saw her.
Not as prey.Not as a target.
But as something unfamiliar.Something he didn't want to destroy.
And that was the scariest thing of all.