"I intend to be worth it. And if I ever hurt her, I'll hand you the knife myself."
Njal holds his gaze for a long moment, then nods once and turns to walk away.
His footsteps echo through the common room, then fade as he disappears toward the garage.
The silence he leaves behind is heavy with unspoken things.
"How much did you hear?" I ask.
"Enough." RJ's hand finds the small of my back, warm and possessive. "He's had feelings for you for a while?"
"Apparently. I didn't know."
"Hmm."
I turn to face him. "Are you jealous?"
"Yes." The admission comes without hesitation. "I know I have no right to be. He's known you longer. He'll be here when I'm—" He stops, jaw tightening.
"When you're what?"
"Nothing."
"RJ." I step closer, forcing him to look at me. "What's going on? And don't tell me not to worry about it. I'm done being kept in the dark."
Something flickers across his face. Guilt, maybe. Or frustration. "It's club business. Your father asked me to?—"
"I don't care what my father asked. I care about what's happening. Why have you been doing extra perimeter checks. Why do you tense up every time I go near a window. Why do you look at me sometimes like you're afraid I'm going to disappear." My voice cracks on the last word. "Talk to me. Please."
He's quiet for a long moment. I watch the war play out behind his eyes—the instinct to protect me from the truth versus the knowledge that lying is slowly poisoning what we have.
"There's a threat," he says finally. "Beyond the Krajncs. Something local."
"What kind of threat?"
"I can't—" He stops, exhales. "Your father asked me not to tell you. He doesn't want you to worry."
"Well, I'm worrying anyway. So, you might as well give me something."
"Dalla..."
"No." I step back, putting distance between us. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to claim me in front of Njal, tell him you're not going anywhere, and then refuse to treat me like a partner. Either I'm in this with you or I'm not. Which is it?"
His expression hardens. "You're in this with me."
"Then act like it."
The air between us crackles with tension.
We're standing three feet apart, but it feels like miles.
Everything I've been holding back—the frustration, the fear, the exhaustion of being protected instead of included—rises up in my chest like a wave.
"I'm trying to keep you safe," he says.
"I don't want to be kept safe. I want to be kept informed."
"It's not that simple."
