It made him want to set something on fire.
She glanced up, catching him mid-thought. Her expression softened enough to see through.
“You’re quiet.”
He didn’t answer.
Just looked at her.
At the sharp blue of her eyes.
The stubborn tilt of her jaw.
The tension in her shoulders she didn’t know she carried.
Maybe that’s what cracked something open in him.
His voice, when it came, was low. Certain.
A promise wrapped in iron.
“You don’t have to fight them alone.”
A flicker passed across her face—surprise? Doubt?
Gone before he could name it.
Her hand curled tighter around the mug. “I know.”
But she didn’t.
Not really.
He could hear it in the way the words landed, too brittle to be belief. Too careful to be truth.
Gideon didn’t push.
Not yet.
Instead, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing the back of hers.
She didn’t pull away.
His thumb traced a slow arc across her knuckles. He felt her breath catch.
For only a second.
But it was enough.
“Evelyn’s never going to accept this,” she said, her voice low.
Still, she didn’t move her hand. Didn’t pull back.
He kept his hold light but sure. “I don’t need her to. But you…”
He paused.
“You do.”
