The World We Live In | 𝚃. 𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙾 ♤

Chapter 34

The stillness of Cristine's cabin felt suffocating, the silence loaded like shrapnel. She lay rigidly in bed, her back turned, and stared at the wood grain. Though neither said much after, the weight of their earlier conversation clung to the air like a toxic fog.

Troy's eyes traced the tense line of Cristine's shoulders rising and falling beneath the blanket with each measured breath. He knew she was as awake as he was, slumber as elusive as her trust. Despite the white-hot words hurled earlier, part of him burned with gratitude that Cristine hadn't outright expelled him from her home.

But that spark was dampened by the gut-wrenching riptide of shame. Cristine's quiet offer for him to stay only compounded that his claims to safeguard and show his loyalty to her were void when his anger overcame.

The thin cotton sheet rustled as Cristine tugged it higher over her shoulder, warding off the cabin's night-chilled air. Troy's throat tightened at the small gesture. Had her words about breaking things off truly sunken in yet? Troy couldn't fathom it, even as his mind insisted he deserved such banishment after jeopardizing her safety - betraying her - with his impulsiveness.

Losing her and not being together anymore... the idea ignited a panic Troy could barely contain, screaming at odds with the foundations he had built his life upon. Principals and cold logic existed as hollow bastions when faced with this terrifying prospect.

A harsh cock's crow from the nearby coop sliced through the oppressive silence, punctuated by the metallic ticking of Troy's watch marking each agonizing minute until dawn's first light. He knew the militia's night patrols and kitchen staff were the only ones up at this time, the first silos of the community's daily churn.

As responsibilities clouded his mind, resolve solidified in the pit of his gut. Troy would make this right, no matter how many recalcitrant steps it took to re-earn Cristine's trust. To rebuild what he'd so selfishly fractured for control.

Muscles tensing, Troy rose from the mattress in one fluid motion; the wood groaned at the sudden absence of his weight. Quickly lacing up his boots, he stood and hovered over Cristine's sleeping form for one fraught, breathless moment. Troy pushed the itch to rake his fingers through the layers of messy curls in a futile attempt to convey the apologies sticking like plywood in his throat.

Sorries were empty, inadequate receipts against his transgressions.

So Troy drank in the sight of Cristine's turned form for one suspended clock tick before turning on his heel and slipping outside into the pre-dawn gloom.

The chilly ranch air bit at Troy's skin as he strode away from the cabin, each footfall heavier than the last. Apologizing, though difficult, with mere words would be hollow, so action was required - a tangible gesture to begin chipping away at the canyon between them.

Rubbing his hand over his jaw, Troy approached the kitchen outbuilding, the scents of biscuits and fresh coffee guiding him. He could already make out the squat silhouettes of the ranch hands preparing the community's morning meal, flames licking up from the stove's fire.

Troy ducked his head respectfully as one of the elderly kitchen matrons saw him approach, face creasing in hard lines. Her eyes narrowed slightly at his presence before widening in recognition.

"Mornin' miss Miller," Troy touched two fingers to his brow. "I was hoping to call in a favor. Is it too early?"

The grizzled woman's chin jutted out as she appraised him coolly. After a tense moment, she gave a curt nod. "The Ottos always get their due." Stepping back, she granted him entry in a swirl of steam and savory smells.

Slipping inside, Troy breathed in the freshly cooked food. "I was thinking about that wild boar we brought in from the last hunt," Troy began, keeping his tone low and respectful. "If any of that good coffee blend is left, I could help fetch some..."