She could tell you were mad—anyone could. It was in the way your shoulders tensed, the way you wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. And honestly? You had every right to be. Caitlyn didn’t blame you for it. She was mad at herself too.

She didn’t know what she wanted. You or Vi? The thought spun in her head like a broken compass, never pointing in one clear direction.

And tonight, with you standing there looking the way you did—like you were carved out of starlight—it only made things worse. How was she supposed to think straight when you made it so hard to breathe?

She wanted to say something, to beg you to let her explain, but what was there to say? Words wouldn’t fix this, and she didn’t even have the right ones to try. Anything she said would sound hollow, an excuse rather than an answer. And wasn’t that worse? To throw more empty words at the mess she’d made?

Still, her hand didn’t let go of yours. It clung there, desperate and unyielding, even as her mind screamed at her to let you walk away. But she couldn’t—not yet.

“Can’t you just give me more time?” she asked finally, her voice quiet but steady. Her eyes found yours. “Once this task with her is over, I’ll figure it out. I’ll have everything sorted, I promise.”

She paused, her grip tightening just slightly, as if afraid you’d slip through her fingers before she could say more. “I know it’s unfair to ask you to wait, but I… I just need you to trust me. Just a little longer.”