::He wasn’t doing us any good in the closet, only making us miserable. We had to see him every day. Hear him every day.:: Aaru looked exasperated. ::I wanted to mourn, but felt like I couldn’t. Not with him there.::

::I’m sorry.:: I should have thought of that.

He offered a small shrug. ::It will be better without him.::

::The others won’t understand.:: I didn’t really understand, except that I knew Aaru would never intentionally put us in danger. ::I wish you had told me.::

::I should have. I’m sorry.::

::If we don’t work together, then we can only work against one another.:: The music shifted into a faster tempo, but not so fast that we looked strange just swaying together. ::We have to talk to each other,:: I said, stepping closer so that I could feel the heat of his body. ::Out loud. Quiet code. It doesn’t make a difference to me.::

His expression began to crumple. ::After Idris—::

I shook my head. ::I understood that. It makes sense. Grief is different for all of us, and you lost so much.::

Again, his fingertips curled over my hips, pulling me a breath closer.

::But then you spoke aloud again—for the first time since the noorestones—and I wanted to talk to you.::

His lips parted. ::It hurt you that I talked to Altan instead.::

“Yes.” A lump of ugly jealousy lodged in my throat. ::I was sad when you stopped talking. Out loud, I mean. After the noorestones. After Altan.::

He lowered his eyes.

::I felt guilty, like I should have been able to prevent it. Like you lost something important because I wasn’t strong enough.::

::That wasn’t it.:: He stopped swaying. Stood still. Gazed down at me. ::I don’t know why it went away, or why it came back. There are so many things I don’t understand, and I wish I had answers, but I don’t. I just hurt now. All the time.::

My hands slid down his shoulders, his arms, his wrists. My fingers tangled with his. ::I love you, Aaru. Whether you speak aloud, in quiet code, or not at all, I love you. And I wish I could take the pain for you, carry some of the burden, but we both know grief doesn’t work like that.:: I slid my thumb across his knuckles and took a small step backward. ::It’s selfish, I know, but I thought when you finally got your voice back, you’d share it with me. Instead, you shared it with him. Our enemy. The man who tortured it away from you in the first place.::

His breath came with a soft shudder, and my heart squeezed with wanting as I watched his face, the lines of his cheeks and chin, the furrow of his brow, the softness of his gaze. I’d never realized it was possible to want such closeness with another person—only to realize they might not be able to give it.

::I know it’s selfish,:: I said again. ::And I know what you’ve lost, even if I can’t fully comprehend it.::