"Hey." He tilted my chin up. "I'm scared too. Terrified, actually. But not of you changing. Scared of losing you before we figure out what this is."
"What is this?"
"Fuck if I know." His thumb traced my lower lip. "Love, probably. The messy kind that doesn't fit in neat boxes."
"I don't know how to do messy love. Only the kind with rules and contracts."
"Then we'll learn together." He pulled me against him, both of us still on the floor. "But Bunny? What just happened? That wasn't about power."
"No?"
"That was about fear. And that's okay. Being scared and doing it anyway? That's the definition of brave."
"I don't feel brave."
"You will. Tomorrow, when you're saving lives? You'll remember you chose it. Not because someone ordered you to, but because it's right." He kissed my forehead. "And when it'sover, when those women are safe, we'll deal with whatever comes next."
"Together?"
"Together."
We stayed on the floor for a long time, processing what had happened and what was coming. When we finally made it to bed, he held me like something precious but not fragile. The distinction mattered.
"Nathan?"
"Yeah?"
"I need you to promise something."
"What?"
"If something goes wrong tomorrow, if I don't come back or come back different..." I swallowed hard. "Don't blame yourself. This is my choice. Mine alone."
"I can't promise that."
"Then promise you'll remember that I chose it. That for once in my life, I got to pick my cage."
His arms tightened around me. "You're coming back."
"But if—"
"You're coming back," he repeated firmly. "Because you're right. You survived hell. One night playing rabbit? That's nothing." He pressed his lips to my hair. "Besides, you promised to teach me things. Can't do that if you don't come back."
"Manipulative."
"Learned from the best."
I smiled despite everything. Tomorrow I'd walk back into nightmare voluntarily. Tonight, I had this—a man who saw all my sharp edges and held me anyway.
"Nathan?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For letting me... earlier. For not trying to fix it or make it pretty."
"Sometimes things can't be pretty." His voice was thoughtful. "Sometimes they just have to be real."
Real. Such a simple word for such a complex concept. Tomorrow I'd pretend to be cargo, an object, a thing to be traded. But it would be real pretending, chosen rather than forced.
