The War Between Us
He must have seen the shift in my face, because he took a measured step closer.
“I don’t feel lost with you,” he said, softer now. “I feel unarmored.”
The word landed like a punch. I almost flinched. In his world, armor was everything. The second you took it off, you were dead.
“That’s not a good thing,” I managed, because someone had to say it.
He nodded, a small, bitter smile twisting his mouth. “No. It isn’t.” He released my wrist then, but didn’t step back. His fingers curled at his side.
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