But it doesn’t last.

His entire body tenses, and he moves to the center of the room. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“You really know how to make a person feel special.”

Gil holds out a hand, ignoring me.

I place my fingers over his, and he puts his other hand against my back, pulling me closer to his chest. Our faces are inches apart. I look up, noting the hazel flecks in his eyes, and cast my gaze over his shoulder defiantly.

I follow his instructions, stepping on his feet a fairly pleasant amount, and do three-counts around the room until my neck is stiff.

“You need to relax. You move like a robot.”

“Well, then, I’m only one step away from moving like an artificially intelligent sentient,” I retort.

“Huh. I always pegged you for more of a ‘robot is an insensitive slur’ kind of person.”

“Well, you obviously don’t know anything about me, so congratulations on being wrong.”

“I know plenty about you.”

“ ‘You need to watch your left’ doesn’t count.”

“I know you have a sister. I know you died saving someone who reminded you of her. I know you had a boyfriend named Finn. I know you were on your way to a party when—”

“Stop,” I interrupt angrily, my feet bolting to the floor. “Just… stop.”

His body stills, but he doesn’t drop his hands.

“Those memories weren’t for you to look at,” I say, glaring at the wall because I can’t bring myself to look at his face. “I don’t care if it was necessary; you wouldn’t like it if I looked into your mind and went snooping around without your permission.”

His breaths are even; mine are hurried and my heart is pounding like a kettledrum.

“You can look into my mind anytime you like,” he says evenly. “But I promise you won’t like what you see.”

“I don’t need to read your mind to know what you think of me,” I snap. “You make it clear every second I’m around you.”

He releases me and takes half a step back. “The fact that you think you’re the worst thing in my mind says everything I need to know about you.”

I flinch, realizing he’s referring to all the time he’s spent in War. All the horrendous things he must’ve seen. Must’ve done. He wasn’t trying to insult me; he was genuinely giving me a warning.

“I’m sorry about what you went through—” I start, but Gil isn’t interested in hearing the rest.

“Save your pity for the Residents. It’s what you’re best at.”

“I don’t pity them. But I also don’t believe killing is ever the answer.”

The anger seeps through his words. “You’ll feel differently in a few more lifetimes. Everyone does.”

“There are always exceptions,” I argue.