Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

Rip watches me for a moment, like he’s debating whether or not he wants to reply. When he stays silent, I have my answer.

Disappointment fills me, but it’s nothing more than what I deserve. I deserve a lot worse, to be honest. I deserved for him to let me fall on those rocks instead of catching me. I deserved to be locked up, to be hated.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. And I’m not exactly sure what parts I’m apologizing for, but my words are sincere nevertheless.

His expression shutters, giving nothing away.

When I realize he’s not going to respond to that either, I almost turn and walk away. Almost.

But something keeps me standing there, rooted with him.

As we watch each other beside the brine-breathed water, all I can think of is how his lips grazed against mine. How the feather-light touch was so contradictory to his rough reputation and sharp edges.

Even though I shouldn’t care, I find that I don’t want him to hate me. I don’t want his cold indifference.

My body remembers that night. From the heat of his breath, to the feel of his fingertips skimming my jaw. Every time I close my eyes, my heart pounds with the thought of it, my mind spinning with what it meant, why he did it.

Why did he do it?

I’ve tried fighting him tooth and nail since I met him. I’ve tried hating him. Blaming him, but...

But.

That argument of him being my enemy, it doesn’t feel true anymore.

Something changed. Something split off, and I can feel it, I can feel me drifting blindly in the water like one of those pieces of broken-off ice.

Maybe it was the barely-kiss that did it. Maybe it was the poke and prod, the proud smile I received when I unleashed my ribbons and admitted what I am.

Or maybe it was right from the start, when he saw me and he knew what I was and he did not balk. Maybe I was doomed from the beginning, the moment I walked off that ship.

I wrap my arms around myself and move my gaze to the ocean. It’s easier, to face that than to look at him as I talk.

“You’ve never treated me like your prisoner, not really,” I say quietly.

Hopefully he can hear me over the waves, because my voice doesn’t have the courage to go louder.

“I thought it was a tactic. Maybe it was—is. I don’t know. I never know with you, because you confuse me. This whole damn army confuses me,” I admit with a small scoff as I shake my head at myself.

I’m breathing harder, exerted from carrying the weight of my confession.

This could be a mistake. But everyone keeps telling me to listen to my instincts, and my instincts keep telling me to stop. To stop my knee-jerk reactions and try to see things in a different light instead.

Because even though that kiss was the softest, lightest touch, I felt its weight all the way down to my bones. And that can’t be a trick.

Right?

This quiet night is perfect for these timid thoughts. Perfect for looking at the shifting waves and feeling myself shifting too. My cheeks fight between a flush and the frost, heat and chill.

The clouds move overhead, like a curtain peeling back, finger to lips, an eavesdropping sky.

“But I just realized something,” I go on with an almost-smile.

Beside us, the seawater crashes against the rocks with a clap and a rumble.

“And what’s that?” Rip asks.

Our gazes stay locked on the thundercloud sea.