The echo of his voice still clings to the air like smoke.

Cole paces the width of the garage, fists clenched, boots scraping against the cement floor. His mech looms behind him—still, silent, watching. Wires and panels lay forgotten across the workbench. Tools scattered. Everything abandoned the second she walked out.

Or rather, the second he made her walk out.

He runs a hand down his face. His skin is hot. Jaw tight. His hoodie clings to his neck from the weight of sweat and shame. He can still see the way her shoulders shook as she backed away from him—eyes wide, lower lip trembling.

“God—she doesn’t get it,” he mutters, voice hoarse with anger that’s not really anger. “I’m scared, okay? That’s not something I just say—”

The mech’s vocal modulator hums low. A flicker of blue from its optics. “But you yelled at her instead.”

The words are quiet. And somehow louder than the slam of the door she left through.

Cole freezes mid-step. Chest rising and falling. He turns slowly, like if he moves too fast the world might crack beneath his feet.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says. His voice is softer now. Frayed. Tired. A child caught in the aftermath of knocking over something precious.

The mech responds without delay. “She cried.”

Those two words land like a punch to the gut.

Not she was hurt.
 Not she left.
 Not even she’s angry.

She cried.

The image burns into his mind—her face crumpling, eyes shining with unshed tears, her mouth opening like she wanted to say something but couldn’t get it out past the ache in her throat.

He didn’t just lose his temper. He made her cry. Something inside him caves.

He spins around, nearly tripping over a wrench, and dives for his phone like it’s the only lifeline he’s got left. His fingers shake as he unlocks the screen. His contact list blurs for a second before he finds her name—top of the list, starred, always.

No new texts. No read receipts.

Just the silence he deserves.

Still, he types anyway. Fast. Desperate. Finding her contact: “ future wife/baby🖤 “

you were right. i don’t say how i feel until it’s too late.
but i’m saying it now.
i’m scared of losing you.
please call me.

His thumb hovers over the send button.
 Then he taps it. The message slips into the void.
 He stares at the screen, waiting for it to buzz. Hoping it might bring her back. But the only reply is the low, mechanical hum of the mech behind him.