What Was Never Mine
I wondered, not for the first time, if anyone else ever saw him like this—unguarded, almost uncertain.
“Roman,” I said before I could stop myself.
He stiffened, just slightly. Not in displeasure, but awareness. The use of his name here, between us, carried weight.
“Yes, Edith?”
I swallowed. There were a hundred things I wanted to ask him. About his future. About the whispers I had heard—of alliances, of expectations tightening around him like a snare. About whether this… whatever this was… had an ending he had already accepted.
Instead, I said, “This cannot last.”
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