“Please don't call me that,” Natasha said, her voice a low murmur, heavy with exhaustion. Theo stood there, his hand still outstretched, looking utterly defeated. The rain had plastered his hair to his forehead, and droplets trickled down his face. For a fleeting moment, she felt a familiar ache of sympathy.

“I know I’ve been an utter bastard,” he confessed.

"Yes," she replied, the single word a soft confirmation of her stance.

"Apo-.?" he hesitated, uncertainty in his voice.

"An apology or a question?" she retorted, her resolve hardening.

Theo hesitated, not sure, and she shrugged. "Let me know when you figure it out." She walked out of the room,...