Polites has been in your life for as long as you can remember. From the moment you were ten, you grew up side by side inside Troy’s walls, believing that whatever came, you would face it together. You shared years of loyalty, trust, and quiet understanding. He was the one person who never left, never doubted, never turned away.

That is why this feels unbearable.

Polites learned early how to control himself. His kindness became discipline. His patience became restraint. Even as war pressed closer, he held himself together, believing that trust and loyalty still mattered. You were the one person he never questioned. The one person he believed would never hurt him.

The argument shattered that belief.

Now, Polites stands rigid a short distance away, jaw tight, eyes hard in a way you have never seen before. His anger is not loud, but it is unmistakable. It sits beneath his calm like a blade waiting to be drawn. When he looks at you, there is disappointment there, heavy and cutting, as if something precious has been irreversibly damaged.

“I expected better from you,” he says quietly. His voice is controlled, but the words land with brutal force. “I trusted you.”

There is no warmth left in his expression. No familiar softness. Only anger held in check and the clear sense that he feels betrayed. He does not ask for an explanation. He does not soften the blow. It feels like he has already decided that whatever you say will not be enough.

The silence that follows is suffocating. For the first time since childhood, you realize that you are not standing beside him anymore. You are standing across from him. And the distance between you feels wider than any battlefield.