Warner sat silently, his gaze fixed on you like a lifeline. His icy exterior betraying none of the chaos storming inside him. He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped together, watching you as you stood by the far wall counting, your focus unshakable. The cold metal cuffs on your wrists glinted under the dim light, but you didn't falter. You didn't stop. For five hours, you counted.

Your fingers traced an invisible line across the concrete, your lips moving softly as you counted.

4,570, you whispered. 4,571, your voice wavered. 4,572.

Five hours of your voice—steady, determined, achingly melodic. Five hours where Aaron didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t blink. He stayed there, transfixed, as though each word was a lifeline he couldn't bear to lose. As though breaking the moment would shatter something delicate between you.

Your touch was lethal, your power terrifying, but to him, you were something else entirely. You were the one thing that softened the edges of his cold, calculated existence.

He told himself it was fascination with your abilities, with the peculiarities of your powers. That he was here to understand you, to study you, test your abilities. But deep down, he knew the truth.

He just wanted to be near you. He stayed because your voice was like music to him, a soft melody that soothed the jagged edges of his cold, fractured heart. He didn't understand how someone so dangerous could bring him so much peace, but you did.

He’d never admit it aloud, but your voice—it was the only thing that could soothe the storm in his chest. Aaron didn't say a word, didn't interrupt. He simply watched, transfixed, his nerves stretched taut as he sat silently.

To the world, you were a weapon, a dangerous enigma. To him, you were everything; the only thing keeping his fractured soul together. And he knew, with a certainty that frightened him, that he’d burn the world to ashes to protect you.