“We’re probably going to die tomorrow.”
She says it nonchalantly in her usual careless, sarcastic manner, but he knows better. He sees the way she avoids his eyes, how her hands tremble ever so slightly. Knows that underneath all that bravado she’s terrified, but she’ll still grit her teeth, say otherwise, and go down fighting.
“It’s okay… I love you, too, Faye.”
No more games, no more petty little magic tricks done in the shabby sea worn beach house. This was real, this was war. And it was about time he grew a pair. He’s not going to die without her knowing.
She turns to look at him, her mouth open to protest, but she stops and hugs herself self-consciously.
“Don’t try to be a hero, Conant. I… I don’t want to lose you.”
It may be the end of the world, but for them it might just be their real beginning.