Charles' POV
Alexander's expression shifted — not soft, not angry.
Just… knowing.
"How do you know?" I repeated, sitting up straighter.
He exhaled.
That slow, heavy kind of breath soldiers took before saying something they usually wouldn't.
"Because he's like me," Alexander said.
I blinked. "…What?"
He rubbed his thumb against his palm, a habit he had when he was thinking too much.
"You and Louis—" he started, then shook his head. "It's the same pattern I see in half the idiots I served with. Men who would rather break their own bones than admit they want something."
I stared.
Alexander didn't look at me. He looked ahead, jaw tight.
"People like us don't know how to choose happiness," he said quietly.
"We choose duty. Obligation. The option that hurts us the least publicly."
He gave a humorless laugh.
"And then sometimes— we choose the one that hurts us the most privately."
My chest tightened.
"You think Louis is like that?" I whispered.
