Miles walked over the broken glass at the lobby doors, the shards crunching under his bare feet, but he felt nothing.
He walked out into the cool, silent night, a single, unwavering thought echoing in the quiet of his rebooted mind.
She's safe.
Clara followed a half-step behind him, her presence a warm, steady anchor in the chaotic aftermath.
The street was empty.
The city was asleep, blissfully unaware of the war that had just been fought in one of its dark, forgotten corners.
They walked in silence for a full block, the only sound was the soft padding of his feet on the pavement and the distant wail of the city siren.
He was waiting for the questions.
He was waiting for the fear.
He was waiting for her to scream, to run, to look at him like the monster he had just proven himself to be.
"Well," he thought, his internal voice a dry, exhausted whisper.
"That's one way to tell a girl you like her."
