(POV: Amelia)
The night air felt colder outside the building.
I walked farther than I needed to before finally stopping, my gloves still in my hand—I hadn't even noticed. The wind brushed lightly against my skin—cool, but not enough to distract me from what was coming.
I knew Rhys was behind me.
His steps were never rushed. Never uncertain. Just like him.
"Is this far enough?" he asked from behind.
I turned.
For a moment, we just looked at each other.
The distance between us wasn't too close, not too far—just enough for a conversation like this. Just enough to make me realize I couldn't avoid it anymore.
We moved slightly toward the side of the hangar, where the runway lights only touched part of our faces, leaving the rest in shadow. It made everything feel… more honest than usual.
The wind picked up here, loosening a few strands of my hair.
I didn't fix them.
Not tonight.
"Ten years, Amelia," Rhys said at last.
His voice had changed.
Not formal. Not the voice he used in the briefing room.
Something more personal. Heavier.
"Ten years… and you're still avoiding it."
I didn't answer right away.
Something in my chest tightened—something I had expected, but had never really been ready to face.
"Why?" he continued, quieter now, but sharper. "Is this still about Dawson?"
Silence.
I didn't deny it.
And for the first time, that silence became the most honest answer I could give.
Rhys studied me for a few seconds, then let out a short breath, his expression unreadable. "You two haven't really changed since then."
I lowered my gaze briefly, my eyes falling to the gloves still in my hand. "That was… for the best, sir."
"Rhys," he corrected gently. "Call me Rhys when it's like this."
I gave a small nod, not trusting my voice to stay steady if I spoke.
"I never really had the chance to ask," he continued.
For the first time, I heard something different in his voice—something unfamiliar from the man I had always known as controlled and composed.
"Or to say that… what I felt back in Cranwell wasn't just an instructor noticing a talented cadet."
I closed my eyes for a second.
I had known.
From the way his gaze had changed. From the way he stood just a little too close. From the way his hand rested on my shoulder—different from how he treated anyone else.
But hearing it spoken out loud…
was something else entirely.
"Rhys, I—"
"I know you felt it too," he cut in quietly, taking a step closer.
Not crossing the line.
But close enough.
"There was something between us. There always was."
The wind moved between us, but I barely felt it anymore.
"And now we're equals," he continued, his tone steady—almost like he was stating coordinates in a mission. "There's no boundary anymore."
For him, it was simple.
A conclusion.
Something he had been waiting ten years to say.
But for me…
it felt like pressure.
Something that shouldn't have needed to be said—because it was never going to happen.
"Rhys…"
My voice came out softer than I intended.
"I respect you. I always have."
I paused, searching for the right words—words that wouldn't hurt, but wouldn't mislead either.
"But—"
"But there's Dawson?" he cut in.
His tone didn't change.
But the edge beneath it did.
I went quiet.
Then I took a slow breath, letting the cold night air fill my lungs before releasing it again.
"Back then… yes," I said finally.
My voice sounded different.
More honest than usual.
"But it wasn't the whole truth."
Rhys didn't interrupt.
He just stood there, waiting—with the same patience I had known since Cranwell.
"I used his name as an excuse," I continued.
Each word felt like letting go of something I had held onto for too long.
"It was easier… than admitting something I didn't even fully understand myself."
Silence.
No more hiding.
No more clean, convenient answers.
"Now I understand," I said quietly.
Almost like a confession.
I looked toward the runway—the lights blinking in a steady rhythm—before meeting his gaze again.
"It wasn't because he did something. Not because he ever said anything."
I paused.
Kai's presence filled the silence without me saying his name.
"It was because he didn't."
Rhys frowned slightly, not fully understanding.
"He was always there," I continued.
"For some reason… he just was."
"Even when I chose not to see him."
I didn't say his name.
I didn't need to.
"So it really is Dawson," Rhys said quietly.
This time, I didn't deny it.
I nodded.
"Yes."
One word.
Final.
Something that had taken ten years to reach.
Rhys exhaled slowly, then looked at me again—his expression shifting.
Not anger. Not disappointment.
Something quieter.
Like acceptance finally settling in.
"Then why did you bring up Reed back then?"
I didn't answer immediately.
This time, I didn't hide anything.
No distance. No formality.
Just honesty.
"Because you never really saw her," I said softly.
Rhys stilled.
I saw something move in his eyes—not surprise, but realization beginning to take shape.
"She was always there," I continued.
"She never asked for anything. Never interrupted you. Never complained. Never forced you to choose."
I paused, letting the words settle.
"But you never really looked in that direction."
The wind moved between us again.
Rhys didn't respond.
But something in his expression changed—subtle, almost unnoticeable.
Like something he had ignored for too long was finally becoming clear.
"Rhys…"
My voice softened.
"Try opening your eyes."
Silence.
He didn't answer right away.
But I knew he heard me.
And for the first time, I saw something I had never seen before—
not doubt…
but acceptance.
He gave a small nod.
No words.
That was enough.
Then he stepped back.
Back to a safer distance.
Back to where he should be.
"Alright," he said quietly. "I think that's enough."
He turned and walked away.
His steps remained steady. Controlled. Unhurried.
But tonight felt different.
Maybe because something had finally ended.
Or maybe because something else had just begun—
somewhere else entirely.
I stayed where I was.
Watching the runway, nearly empty now.
The lights still blinked in a steady rhythm—calm, controlled.
Nothing like what was moving inside me.
I took a slow breath, letting the night air fill my lungs before releasing it again.
And for the first time in a long time—
I stopped denying anything.
Not the past that shaped me.
Not myself.
And not that feeling.
The one that had always been there—
quiet, persistent—
hidden in the spaces between silence.
Tonight, I let it stay.
Without fighting it. Without rejecting it. Without forcing a name onto something I might not be ready to face.
Because maybe…
for the first time—
I wasn't trying to run from it anymore.
I just wanted to let it exist.
And see where it would take me.