Lara met his gaze.
For a moment, the hum of the helicopter felt louder.
"I understand," she repeated gently, "that when someone matters to you… you make space for them."
Her tone wasn't bitter. It wasn't sarcastic. If anything, it was too calm.
Ares' eyes darkened slightly.
Beside him, Scarlet's grip on her tablet tightened just enough for her knuckles to pale.
Lara didn't seem to notice either of them.
Her voice softened, drifting somewhere far away.
"It's only natural," she said quietly. "When someone truly matters to you… you don't wait for an excuse. You make one."
The statement was simple. Almost abstract.
Even Ares couldn't fully grasp what she meant.
Yet the way she said it — calm, certain, untouched by insecurity — made something in his chest constrict.
Because she wasn't looking at him.
She was looking beyond him.
Past the cabin. Past the present.
As if she were seeing someone else entirely.
