The apartment felt different in the morning. The adrenaline from last night still lingered, a low hum that threaded through every movement I made. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting more danger, half-expecting him. Both possibilities made my stomach twist.
He was in the living room, standing by the balcony, staring at the skyline as if the city itself could offer answers. When he noticed me watching, he didn't speak. Instead, he gestured toward the seat across from him. I hesitated, then sat, aware of the tension in the air, thick and almost tangible.
"We need to discuss last night," he said finally, voice calm but carrying an edge I couldn't ignore. "What happened out there… it changes things. And you need to understand what comes next."
I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to fold into myself. "I understand," I said, though the words felt hollow. "We survived. That's what matters, right?"
He shook his head slightly. "It matters, yes—but surviving isn't enough. They'll come back. They'll adapt. And this time, mistakes won't be so forgiving."
I felt a shiver run down my spine. The thought of another confrontation, another fight, made my chest tighten. And yet, there was a strange, undeniable pull I felt toward him, toward the man who had saved me without hesitation, who had guided me through chaos like a constant anchor.
"I know you don't want to admit it," he continued, stepping closer, "but you did well. Better than I expected."
I blinked at him, stunned. "Better than you expected?" I echoed. My voice wavered, a mixture of disbelief and something else I couldn't name. Pride? Relief? Or the faintest spark of something deeper, dangerous, and infuriating.
"Yes," he said, meeting my gaze with a steady intensity. "You reacted, you adapted, and most importantly… you stayed with me. You didn't freeze. You didn't run. That matters."
I wanted to push back, to remind him I had no choice, that survival wasn't about skill but fear. But the words stuck in my throat when I saw the flicker of something raw in his eyes—respect, maybe, or something that looked dangerously like acknowledgment.
We sat in tense silence for a moment, the city below indifferent to our turmoil. I realized then that our relationship had shifted. The danger outside had forced us into an unspoken understanding, one I wasn't sure I wanted, but couldn't deny.
"I don't like needing you," I admitted finally, voice low. "But I can't deny it. Not anymore."
He gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Nor I you," he said quietly. "Whether we like it or not, we're bound. By circumstance, by survival… and perhaps something else, too. Something neither of us expected."
The thought made my heart skip. I wanted to hate him for it, for the pull he had over me, for the way the danger had forced us together. But for the first time since this marriage began, I understood that surviving alone wasn't an option. And surviving with him… was a risk I might be willing to take.
The storm outside had passed for now. But inside, the tension between us had only grown stronger, and I had a sinking certainty: it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.