Eventually, the soft quiet between them gave way to the reality outside the walls. A low growl from Egwene's stomach made Theron smirk.
"Well, I guess that's my cue," she muttered, slightly embarrassed as she sat up, finally managing to pull on his oversized shirt.
Theron leaned against the headboard, watching her with that half-lazy, half-intent gaze she was beginning to recognize. The kind that saw too much.
"Stay," he said, though his tone was teasing.
Egwene rolled her eyes with a smile, but her heart fluttered at the word.
She stood, slipping into her pants and combing her fingers through her tangled hair. Theron followed, throwing on his shirt and pulling it over his head. When he stepped up behind her to help smooth the fabric down her back, his fingers lingered for a moment too long. The touch was gentle. Intimate.
But as the sound of distant footsteps in the hallway reminded them they weren't alone in this place—or in this reality—they both seemed to retreat a little.
They didn't talk as they left the room. Their fingers brushed once in the hallway, but neither reached for the other. The air shifted the moment they stepped out into the common area of the base.
People were awake. Voices murmured low. Kettles hissed over small fires. Weapons leaned against the wall by the entrance. Everyone was doing what they always did—survive.
But when Egwene and Theron walked in together, fresh from the same direction, the same hallway, from his room, a few heads turned.
Sophia paused mid-bite, eyes narrowing slightly before she masked it with a forced smile.
Elektra looked between the two of them with a knowing grin before nudging kauis in the ribs.
kauis glanced over, blinked once, and said absolutely nothing—but he didn't look away.
And then there was Aaron.
He was standing near the ration crates, passing out what little food they had left. The second he saw her, something in his posture stiffened. His expression didn't change, but Egwene saw it—the flicker in his eyes. Disappointment. Hurt. And something sharp that cut deeper than either of those.
She looked away quickly, her face heating. Her stomach twisted, the guilt rising like bile.
Theron noticed too. His jaw flexed, but he didn't say anything. He walked to the side of the room, picking up a water jug and pretending not to feel the sudden tension settling around them.
Egwene sat down with her back to the wall, picking at her nails. She couldn't ignore the weight of the silence around her, the glances, the implications.
What had she expected? That they could return to this camp of broken survivors and just... blend in? That no one would notice the way she and Theron looked at each other now—less guarded, more familiar?
But it wasn't just about being noticed. It was about what this meant. For her. For them.
And for Aaron.
Aaron approached her slowly, handing her a cracked metal cup filled with broth. "Here," he said.
"Thanks," she murmured, unable to meet his eyes.
He crouched beside her. "Didn't see you at dinner yesterday."
"I wasn't hungry."
A beat passed.
Then he said it—quietly, like it didn't cost him everything.
"Did something happen?"
Her fingers tightened around the cup.
"I mean—" he corrected quickly, "—something between you and him."
She looked up at him then. His eyes were tired, but honest.
"It wasn't planned," she whispered. "It just... happened."
Aaron nodded slowly. His jaw tensed, and he gave a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It always just happens."
"Aaron..."
"You don't have to explain anything," he cut in, rising to his feet. "We all deal with the end of the world in different ways, right?"
He walked off before she could say more, leaving her cold despite the heat from the broth.
---
Across the room, Theron leaned against the wall with his arms folded. He watched it all—every glance, every unspoken word. He hated it.
He hated how small Egwene looked, curled into herself, guilt pressing down on her. He hated how Jace had looked at her, like she was something he'd lost.
But more than anything, he hated how unsure he felt now that the sun was up.
Last night had been real. He'd felt it in every touch, every breath she took against his skin. But now, in the daylight, surrounded by watchful eyes and heavy silence, it felt like it was slipping away.
He hadn't done this for sex. Not for comfort. Not even because he was afraid of dying alone.
He did it because when she'd come into his room, worried and raw and needing something honest—he needed her just as much.
And now he was wondering if that was enough.
---
Later, when the morning settled and people began preparing for the next supply run, Egwene found herself outside by the edge of the old airstrip. The wind was cold and sharp against her skin. She needed space. She needed clarity.
She didn't hear Theron come up behind her until he said, "You okay?"
She turned, nodding, though her eyes were wet. "Yeah. Just... thinking."
He stepped closer. "About last night?"
She swallowed. "About everything."
Theron didn't push. He just stood beside her, looking out at the gray horizon.
"You don't owe anyone an explanation," he said softly. "Not even him."
"I know."
A pause.
"But I owe myself one."
They stood in silence, side by side, hearts bruised and open in the cold wind.
And though they didn't say the words out loud, something in the space between them whispered:
This isn't over.
---