Page 58 of Thexan

And beneath that, the connection between us remained, not pulling or demanding, but present in a way that made distance feel theoretical rather than real. It wasn’t something I could ignore, and it wasn’t something I could step outside of long enough to evaluate from a safe distance.

I drew in a breath and realized I had been holding it longer than I intended.

“You’re staring,” he said.

His voice didn’t startle me. If anything, it grounded me further, pulling me fully back into the moment instead of letting me drift somewhere I couldn’t follow.

“I know,” I said quietly.

“Why?”

Because I’m trying to understand how my life just changed in the span of a few hours. I don’t know what this looks like when we’re not trying to survive. Part of me is already adjusting to it, and I’m not sure if that should comfort me or concern me.

None of that made it past my lips.

“I’m trying to figure out what happens next,” I said instead.

His gaze didn’t shift. “We proceed.”

That pulled a soft breath from me that might have been a laugh if there had been any real humor behind it.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No,” he said. “It is not.”

I braced my hands against the edge of the cot, leaning back slightly as I studied him, forcing myself to stay with the question instead of stepping around it.

“You don’t question this,” I said. “The bond. What it means.”

His answer did not come immediately.

That alone made me still.

“No,” he said at last. “I do not question that it exists. I do not question that it is permanent. But I am still assessing what it requires of me.”

That was more than I had expected.

“What it requires of you?”

“Yes.” His gaze held mine, steady and focused. “You chose me under circumstances that gave you very little time and no easy answer. That choice has weight. I understand that even if I do not yet understand all the ways it will affect you.”

Something in my chest tightened.

“And you?” I asked. “How does it affect you?”

Thexan looked down briefly at his hand, then back to me. “Before you, my survival had value only if it served an objective. I was useful, or I was not. I was recoverable, or I was expendable.”

The words were so calm they almost hurt worse.

“And now?” I asked.

“Now my survival matters because you chose it.”

I went quiet.

He did not look away, but the stillness in him changed. It was still controlled, still Thexan, but not empty. Not distant.

“I do not have a full framework for what I feel,” he said. “Not yet. But I know this. The bond did not diminish me. It did not make me less controlled or less myself. It made one thing clear that had never been clear before.”