Sally's POV
I pull my cardigan closer against my skin, though the morning warmth doesn't require it. The real chill comes from watching Ajax's muscles contract and release like he's battling an internal war.
He's brought us to a sun-dappled clearing where light filters through the canopy above. In the center sits a moss-covered fallen log, its surface polished smooth from countless sittings. But Ajax remains standing, frozen like a statue.
His stillness unnerves me. His hands curl into tight fists, as if some invisible force threatens to crush him beneath its weight.
"Ajax," I say quietly, "you're starting to frighten me."
My words make him pivot toward me. The rawness in his green eyes nearly steals my ability to breathe. "Frightening you is the absolute last thing I want to do."
"Then open up to me," I plead softly. "Please."
He stares at me for long seconds, his jaw locked tight, his chest working as though each breath requires effort.
