Page 100 of Red Scale Daddy
“You changed.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes,” she says, studying me with irritating accuracy. “You did.”
I look away first.
That surprises both of us.
My gaze lands on the canopy, where dust drifts across the glass and drone shadows crawl like thoughts best left outside. “You’re right,” I say.
Her posture shifts. “About what?”
“I was trying to provoke you.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to see how much of you was still in there under the mission.”
“That is not an apology.”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
I rub one hand over the back of my neck, feeling dried dust grind under my palm. “A course correction.”
Roma’s brows draw together, not in the forbidden jaw kind of way, but in open suspicion. “You do course corrections?”
“Rarely. They startle everyone.”
“They should.”
I glance at her again. “I do not want to break you.”
For the first time since the drones found us, Roma has no immediate answer.
The silence that follows is not empty; it is crowded with alarms, claws, engine hum, and the uncomfortable intimacy of two people standing too close in a damaged ship. Her expression alters by degrees, suspicion giving way to something more guarded and far less simple. The change makes me want to step closer and step back at the same time.
So I step back.
Only one pace.
It feels larger.
Roma watches the movement as if it is a tactical event. “Why did you move?”
“Because I was too close.”
“You chose that proximity.”
“I make poor choices quickly. I can still identify them afterward.”
“That is new information.”
“Put it in your file.”
“I will.”
