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Ray had always been loud. That’s how he survived—jokes louder than the silence, attitude thicker than any awkward tension. It worked. Until now.
Because Nova was smiling. Again. At Victor. And the silence in his chest was screaming.
"You're staring," he muttered, elbowing her as they leaned against at Tree at camp Rayburn, He didn't need to look to know who had caught her attention. Victor stood from across, laughing at something Vargas had said.
Nova didn't flinch. “So?”
Ray scowled. “So? They’re our enemies, Nova.”
His voice came out sharper than he meant. It cut the air. Nova blinked and finally turned to him.
“Oh my God.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You’ve said that like three times this week. What is your deal?”
“My deal,” Ray snapped, “is that you’re getting all... swoony about someone who would’ve drained us dry a week ago.”
Nova gave him a flat look. “That’s a little dramatic, even for you. Look we all have much bigger things to handle than our feud right now, Like Addison said at least until we figure out what's going on we all need to be on the same side. And... hey maybe we can learn to live in peace.”
Ray turned away, jaw tight. The truth buzzed under his skin like electricity in a storm cloud, aching to crack the surface. But he couldn't say it.
He couldn’t tell her that every time she talked about Victor, he felt it twist somewhere deep and ugly—not just out of fear or loyalty to everything they were taught, but out of envy.
Not envy of her. Envy of Victor.
Because stupid Vargas was always next to him, annoyingly bright and cocky. Because Vargas always had some comeback ready for Ray, always smiled like he knew something Ray didn’t. Because Vargas touched his arm once in the middle of some group argument and Ray had felt it for days.
They weren’t supposed to fall for the enemy. That was obvious. That was the line. That was how things worked.
So maybe if he said it enough—they’re our enemies, Nova—he could drown out the traitor beat of his own heart.