The night was sharp with wind.
Toren walked past the last housing ring, boots crunching on the gravel paths they'd laid by hand two years ago. A quiet perimeter lamp blinked in the dark. Jungle shadows loomed beyond the fence—deep, still, familiar.
She was already there.
Mira sat on the bench near the edge, arms resting on her knees, eyes watching nothing in particular.
She didn't turn when he stopped beside her.
"Didn't expect you out here," she said quietly.
"Didn't expect to feel like we're living under a glass dome."
Mira exhaled. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh.
He sat beside her.
They watched the stars.
She spoke first.
"I used to think the danger would come from out there—" she nodded toward the sky, "but now I think maybe it was always going to find us. No matter how careful we were."
"We weren't careful," he admitted. "We were hopeful."
She tilted her head. "You're really not going to run, are you?"
He shook his head.
"This place works because we made it real. Not because we hid it."
Mira didn't answer right away.
Then, softer than before: "I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose you."
Toren turned, surprised.
She didn't look at him.
But she didn't take it back.
He reached out—hesitated—and placed his hand near hers, not touching, just close.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Unless you tell me to."
She still didn't look at him.
But her fingers shifted—just slightly—and brushed against his.