Aria didn't soften it.
She never did.
"You're going to swear something," she said.
Noah turned his head toward her, the movement careful because his ribs screamed if he forgot they were broken.
"…I already did," he said hoarsely.
"Back then."
She shook her head once.
"Those oaths don't count anymore."
That got his attention.
This One Is Different
"This isn't about loyalty," Aria continued.
"It's about damage control."
She stepped closer to the bed, close enough that Noah could see the fine tremor she refused to acknowledge in her hands.
"You do not tell them where I live.
You do not tell them where I work.
You do not tell them who stands near me."
Noah frowned.
"…They already know you're alive."
"They don't know my perimeter," she replied.
"And you're the only one who could give it to them by accident."
The words were blunt.
Necessary.
Why This Matters
"They won't come at me directly," Aria said.
"They'll come through routines. Through names. Through habits."
She met his eyes.
"You were trained to see those things. That makes you dangerous."
Noah swallowed.
"…To you."
"Yes."
She didn't sugarcoat it.
The Oath She Demands
"So you swear," she said, voice low,
"that no matter who asks—command, legacy, friend, or ghost—"
Her jaw tightened slightly.
"—you say nothing."
Noah hesitated.
Not because he didn't want to.
Because he finally understood the weight of it.
"…And if they hurt you?" he asked.
Aria didn't look away.
"Then I handle it."
The One Exception
Noah clenched his jaw.
"…And if they try to take you?"
That made her pause.
Just long enough to be honest.
"Then I don't get taken," she said.
"And you still stay silent."
The room felt smaller after that.
Noah Understands the Cost
Staying silent wasn't cowardice.
It was obedience of the hardest kind.
The kind that meant watching without interfering.
"…You're asking me to stand down," he said quietly.
She nodded.
"I'm asking you to trust that I haven't survived this long by accident."
He Swears
Noah closed his eyes.
The oath burned differently this time.
No flags.
No callsigns.
No witnesses.
Just truth.
"I swear," he said.
His voice didn't shake.
"I won't say a word.
Not about you.
Not about where you are.
Not about what you can do."
Aria watched him for a long second.
Then she nodded once.
"That's enough."
Why She Needed to Hear It
Because if he broke—
They would use him.
And if they used him—
She would have to stop being kind.
She stepped back.
Put space between them again.
Closing Beat
Noah lay back, exhausted but steadier.
"…You still don't trust me," he said.
Aria paused at the door.
Didn't turn around.
"I trust you," she replied.
"I just trust the world less."
Then she left the room, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft, final sound.
Outside, in corridors that remembered her footsteps far too well, Aria exhaled slowly.
One oath secured.
Which meant the next move—
Would not be his.