CHAPTER 29: THE CONFLICTING HEART

Days slipped by, but Lauren couldn't shake the memory of the river. The touch of the guard's hand. The way his eyes locked onto hers. It wasn't something she could push away, no matter how hard she tried. She found herself looking for him, even when she thought no one was watching. Every time he came into view, her heart would skip, and her body would betray her with the way her gaze followed him.

He, too, had started to notice her more, though he always kept his distance. He could see the way her eyes lingered on him, the way she would fidget when their paths crossed. There was a new kind of tension between them, something neither could escape, like an invisible thread pulling them closer, even when they fought against it.

Finally, there was a moment when the camp was quieter. The other slaves were working, the overseers occupied elsewhere, and the two of them were left alone in a hidden corner of the camp. The sounds of the others faded into the distance, leaving only the faint rustling of leaves and the steady rhythm of Lauren's breath.

The guard spoke first, his voice soft and cautious. "Your hair…" he started, hesitating as if unsure how to continue. "I've never seen anyone with hair like yours. Why do you dye it?"

Lauren's throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. She had known this question would come eventually, but hearing it from him—here, in this quiet moment—sent a strange shiver down her spine. She didn't know how to answer, so she hesitated, her eyes flickering away from his.

"It's... to avoid attention," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "To keep from being noticed... targeted."

He nodded slowly, as if he understood more than she had said. He didn't press her, but his curiosity was clear in the way his gaze softened. "And you're from Moshi, right?"

Lauren nodded, the weight of her past suddenly pressing down on her. "I grew up there…"

He took a step closer, his eyes fixed on her, more questions lingering on the edge of his words. "What was it like? Growing up there... before everything changed?"

At the mention of her past, a sharp pang of grief cut through Lauren. The memory of her parents, the life she had lost, flooded back, and for a moment, she couldn't speak. She had never told anyone the full truth of what had happened—how she had lost everything, how her world had been shattered—but standing there with him, with the quiet understanding in his eyes, the words felt heavier than they ever had before.

"I had parents," she murmured, her voice almost drowned out by the weight of the past. "But they're gone now... dead."

The guard's expression softened even more, his eyes filled with something Lauren didn't want to name—sympathy, perhaps, but also something deeper. He didn't say anything, but she could feel his gaze on her, filled with an understanding that made her uncomfortable. She didn't want pity. She didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her. Yet, there was something in his presence, in the way he stood there, that was both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

She didn't pull away, even though she should have. They stood there in silence for a few moments, the connection between them hanging in the air, undeniable and powerful, even though neither of them had said a word about it. Neither of them had the courage to acknowledge it, but it was there, lingering in the space between them.