Don’t let emotions compromise protocol.
Too late.
Because the moment I turn and look at Stella leaning against the counter, hair falling loose from her ponytail, eyes tired but stubborn…
My emotions don’t feel like a complication.
They feel like instinct.
Like something hardwired.
She looks up when I return. “What did he say?”
“They’re looking into everyone at the school,” I reply. “We’ll figure this out.”
Stella nods, then bites her lip. “Jack… am I being paranoid?”
“No.”
Her breath shudders out. “That’s not comforting.”
I step in closer. “It’s honest.”
Her gaze flicks to my mouth—just a quick glance, like her body betrays her even when she’s scared.
I feel it like a spark in my bloodstream.
“Dinner,” I say abruptly, turning before I do something reckless. “You sit. I cook.”
Stella blinks. “You’re… cooking again?”
“Yes.”
“You realize you’re setting unrealistic expectations for all men everywhere.”
“Good,” I mutter.
She huffs out a laugh, and I cling to that sound like it’s oxygen.
Dinner is simple—eggs,toast, whatever vegetables I can find that aren’t suspicious. Stella talks while she eats, the way she does when she’s trying to normalize fear. She tells me about Levi’s “ninja escape” demonstration and how Evan finally spoke more than one word.
I listen. I watch her hands. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The way her eyes soften when she talks about her kids.
It makes me want things I shouldn’t want.
After we clean up, Stella curls into the corner of the couch with a blanket around her legs, laptop open, pretending she’s planning tomorrow’s lesson. She keeps typing, then stopping, then typing again like her brain can’t settle.
I stand near the window, checking outside one more time. The woods are quiet. Too quiet.
When I turn back, Stella’s watching me.
“What?” I ask.
She swallows. “How do you do that?”
“Do what.”
“Be… steady,” she whispers. “Like you’re not scared at all.”
