I pause, smile turning soft despite myself.
“He told me,‘You don’t have to work to be chosen. You already are.’”
The words hang in the air.
Dax doesn’t even hesitate.
“You are,” he says quietly. “You always have been.”
My smile dies.
Because that wasn’t what I said.
That was the line.
The exact line.
My heart stutters.
I laugh once, breathless. “That’s funny.”
He doesn’t move.
“Dax?” I whisper.
He swallows.
Slowly, carefully, like he knows the world is about to tilt.
“…It was you?”
The room goes silent except for the storm.
I stare at him. Waiting. Daring him to deny it.
He doesn’t.
“Rory—”
“You wrote them,” I say, standing abruptly. “You wrote the letters.”
“Yes.”
The word lands like a punch.
“You—” I choke on a laugh. “You let me talk about him. To you.”
“I know.”
“You asked me if I thought it was love,” I whisper. “You sat there and listened while I told you things I’ve never told anyone.”
“I didn’t plan for it to go that far.”
My hands shake. “You planned enough.”
He stands too, closing the distance before I can retreat. His voice stays calm. Grounded. Like he’s bracing for impact.
“I never lied in those letters.”
