The silence stretched, sharp and suffocating.
Ren's breath hitched, uneven, as he swiped at the lone tear that had betrayed him. It was ridiculous, wasn't it? To cry in front of Axton, of all people. The man who had made it very clear—brutally clear—that he was nothing more than a tool. Nothing more than survival wrapped in fragile human flesh.
Yet, his heart ached as though it had been pierced.
He's lying. He has to be.
Axton stood opposite him, broad shoulders tense, fists clenched at his sides. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, though he tried to disguise it. He looked like a man preparing for battle, but his enemy wasn't Ren—it was himself.
Ren's voice, soft and frayed, broke the silence.
"Why do you look at me like that, if it's nothing?"
Axton's jaw tightened. His eyes, those cold, storm-grey eyes, narrowed with something unreadable. He turned away sharply, as though Ren's gaze burned too much to endure.
"Don't test me."
