“You disappear,” I say quietly. “You stay gone. You watch. And then you show up just in time to tell me what I shouldn’t do.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“No,” I say. “You’re trying to control the timing.”
His jaw tightens. “If you go back now, you’ll lose whatever leverage you think you have.”
“Then tell me what I’m walking into.”
He doesn’t. That silence is heavier than anything he could have said.
I take a step closer, close enough to see the faint bruising along his jaw, old and yellowing.
“You don’t trust me,” I say.
“That’s not fair.”
“I don’t care if it’s fair.” My voice is steady now, dangerous in its calm. “If you won’t tell me the truth, you don’t get to stop me.”
“I’m asking you to wait.”
I shake my head. “You’re asking me to obey.”
Something flickers across his face – frustration, anger, something like fear – but he still doesn’t answer the only question that matters.
And in that moment, I know: whatever he’s been doing, whoever he’s been protecting, he chose silence.
And silence doesn’t get to stand in my way anymore. So I step to one side, intending to walk past him.
Snow moves with me.
Not blocking. Mirroring. Close enough now that I can feel his body heat in the cold morning air, close enough that my skin tightens in warning.
“Kayla,” he pleads, lower. “Listen to me.”
“I am listening,” I reply. “You just aren’tsayinganything.”
His hand comes up, slow and careful, like he’s approaching something skittish. His fingers hover near my elbow, not quite touching.
I don’t move away. But I don’t invite it either. My body is at war with me, craving his touch and reassurance that he really is okay, my emotions finally allowing me to feel what I’ve kept locked down since he left, but my own stubborn bloody mindedness will not let me give in to those urges.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he cajoles. “You don’t have to walk straight back into their hands.”
I look at his hand instead of his face. “Then tell me why.”
He hesitates.Again.The pause is barely there, but it’s enough. It always is.
“You already know enough,” he says, dismissing me.
That does it. Red mist comes down and I step back, creating space between us. “No,” I snap. “I know what I’ve been allowed to know. Nothing more. I’m sick of everyone holding back, lying and manipulating me.”
His hand drops, then rises again, this time higher. He cups my jaw gently, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth like it’s muscle memory. Like this is familiar territory he’s entitled to occupy.
I freeze. Not because I want him to stop. But because I shouldn’t have totellhim to.
“Don’t,” I say.
He leans in anyway, forehead almost touching mine. His breath ghosts across my cheek. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
