"The one on my ribs is from a knife. The round one is probably a bullet. The others." I gesture helplessly. "Violence. A lot of it."
She's quiet for a moment, processing. "You were stabbed. Shot."
"Yes, probably."
"And you survived."
"Obviously."
"That's not normal, Lupo. People don't just survive things like that over and over by accident. What were you?" Her voice is steady, but I can hear the fear underneath. "Military? Police?"
I want to lie. Want to tell her something that will make her feel safe. But the scars don't lie, and neither will I.
"No, I don't think so," I say quietly. "I think I was something worse."
She takes a small step back, and the distance feels insurmountable.
"Are you dangerous?" she asks. "Right now, are you a threat to me? To Elena? You should tell me if you are. Please."
"No." The word comes out fierce, certain. "I would never hurt you. Either of you."
"How do you know that? You don't even know who you are."
"I know it deep inside me." I set the tea down on the small hallway table, needing my hands free, needing her to see I'm not a threat. "Whatever I was before, whatever I did, I know I wouldn't hurt you. I feel that as strongly as I feel anything."
She searches my face, looking for the lie. But there isn't one.
"I should ask you to leave," she says finally. “You could be dangerous to us. A threat.”
"Yes. You should."
"It's the smart thing to do. The safe thing."
"Yes."
"But I'm not going to."
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning.
"Why not?" I ask.
She's quiet for so long I think she won't answer. Then, "Because I think you're right. I think you were something bad. Maybe something terrible." She takes a breath. "But I don't think you are anymore. And I don't know if that's because you lost your memory or because something in you changed, but..." She trails off, shaking her head. "I should be smarter than this."
"You should," I agree. "I'm a risk. A liability. You don't owe me anything, Isabella. You truly don’t. You’re not obligated to me in any way."
"I know."
We stand there in the narrow hallway, too close and not close enough, the air thick with everything we're not saying.
I want to touch her, want to close the distance between us and see if she'd pull away or lean in. Want to know if this thing I'm feeling, this pull, this need, is mutual.
But I don't move. Because she's right. I am dangerous. Even if I don't fully remember why, I can feel it in my bones. And she deserves better than whatever darkness I'm carrying with me. What if I’m capable of hurting her and Elena?
"I should go," I say, though I don't move.
"Yes," she agrees. But she doesn't move either.
For one heartbeat, two, we just look at each other. Then she takes a step back, breaking whatever spell was between us.
