Page 86 of Cinder
“Yeah, not all stations do—we lucked out because this is a pretty new build.”
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing the radio.
“Alarm tones,” he says. “Different calls have different sounds.”
“And you just… know which is which?”
“You know by the first tone if you’re running,” he says. “Cadence tells you before dispatch finishes.”
“That’s unsettling.”
He smiles, his eyes trailing my face. “You get used to it.”
Silence settles for a second, and I’m suddenly more aware of his eyes on me. The hallway feels narrower than when we walked in, and the noise from the bay is muted by walls and distance.
I glance back at the open bunk room, then at him.
“So you like it?” I ask.
“What?”
“This. Living half your life ready to run.”
His expression shifts slightly. “It’s not about liking it, really. Or running. It’s about knowing what you’re for.”
“What you’re for,” I repeat.
He nods. “When the tones drop, there’s no question. You just move.”
I study him for a second longer.
“That’s what I meant,” I say quietly. “You’re different here because you don’t question yourself.”
The muscle in his jaw tightens a fraction. “You think I question myself everywhere else?”
I shrug lightly, but my pulse picks up. “Maybe.”
He steps closer, and I back into the wall. I’m not trapped, but he’s close enough I can feel his warmth.
“And you?” he asks. “You don’t?”
“That’s not a tour question,” I say, attempting a deflection.
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”
I swallow, and his eyes track the movement before they snap back to mine.
“You said I look like I belong,” he continues. “You don’t think you belong anywhere?”
I look past him for a second, toward the dim glow at the end of the corridor.
“If the shoe fits,” I admit before I can stop myself. “Less to lose that way.”
I feel exposed the second the words leave my mouth, but his eyes don’t soften.
“That’s bullshit.”
I frown. “What?”
