“Yeah,” I say. “I meant it.”
Her throat works as she swallows. She looks back at the TV, but I can tell she’s not seeing it.
“Too late,” she says, after a beat. “He already did. Last year. Jason, then Henry. I went from being ‘that weird Gentry girl who lives in the library’ to ‘the girl who helped catch a serial killer.’ People don’t see me without seeing that on top.”
“And?” I ask.
“And now he’s trying to flip it,” she says. “Make it so when people say my name, it’s ‘Henry’s little bird’ instead. Like he’s the reason I matter. Like I’m one of his stories.”
“Twiggy,” I say.
She keeps staring straight ahead.
“You were someone long before he decided to point his broken attention at you,” I say. “You’re still that someone now. What you did with the mountain, what you’ve done for other cases—that’s yours. He doesn’t get to take credit because he’s mad you shined a light on his mess.”
Her jaw tightens.
“You say that like it’s easy,” she murmurs.
“I say that like it’s true,” I reply. “Whether it’s easy or not is a separate fight. And you don’t have to fight it alone.”
She goes quiet.
Then, slowly, she shifts on the couch, bringing her legs up, turning to face me more directly. One hand curls around the edge of the blanket, pulling it tighter over her knees.
“Why?” she asks.
“Why what?”
“Why don’t I have to fight it alone?” she presses. “You’re Kael’s guy. You come in, break things, build a fence, and leave. That’s the job. Why are you…” She gestures, frustrated. “Why are you here in my friend’s very ridiculous house, watching Hallmark movies and talking about my feelings?”
She probably doesn’t mean it to sound as aggressive as it does. Her defensiveness is protection.
I could give her the simple answer: Because Kael asked. Because Brady needed someone ECI trusts in the room. Because it’s the right thing to do.
All true. None of it’s the whole answer, though.
“Because you’re not a job,” I say.
She barks out a laugh. “That’s objectively wrong.”
“You’re a situation,” I amend.
“Wow,” she says. “Upgraded from job to situation. Be still my heart.”
“You know what I mean,” I say.
“I really don’t,” she says. “Explain it to me like I’m five, please. I’m tired.”
I exhale, long.
“Most people I protect,” I say slowly, “are trying to disappear. They want less of themselves in the world. Fewer ripples. They let me draw the lines, and then they stay inside them because it’s safer.”
She doesn’t interrupt. That alone is telling.
“You’re the opposite,” I continue. “You lean into the danger if it means getting answers. You make more ripples. You take thelines I draw and start asking how to use them like trip wires instead of walls. It’s…infuriating.”
Her mouth curves, just a little. “Compliment accepted.”
