He shifted again, tucking one ankle beneath the chair, gaze fixed on the floor now. "You can ask, you know," he said. "About the—what happened."
I considered it. "You want to talk about it?"
He looked up, surprised. "I mean, most people just…"
"Most people aren't me," I said. "You don't owe me the story unless you want to tell it."
He let out a breath, shuddery. "Thanks."
I nodded, once.
He smiled at that, tentative, but real. It made his face go soft in a way I didn't expect, like a thaw in late spring. I felt something tighten in my chest and immediately squashed it.
"You're not what I expected," he said, after a while.
I cocked my head. "That so?"
"Yeah, I mean, everyone in town acts like the McKenzies are these—" He trailed off, then made a weird motion with his hands, like he was trying to sculpt the idea out of air. "I don't know. Forces of nature, or something."
"They're not wrong," I said. I kept my voice flat, but the smirk was there if you knew how to look.
He laughed, and the sound did something to me. I liked it. I wanted to hear it again, see what it looked like when his face wasn't half-bruised and tired.
I sat back, stretching my legs so they bracketed the space between us. He clocked the movement, and I saw the flash of something in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe, or anticipation.
Either way, it was good.
He said, "So what happens now?"
"Now," I said, "I make sure you're not a liability."
That got his attention. He sat upright, color high in his face.
"I'm not—"
I held up a hand. "It's not a judgment. Just a fact. You come into my house, you become my responsibility. That's how it works here."
He blinked at me. "You're very…"
"Direct?" I offered.
He nodded.
"It's easier that way," I said. "You want a place to hide out, you follow the rules. You don't want to, you can walk. No one's keeping you here."
He looked at the door, then at me, then down at the floor again. "I don't want to go back."
I relaxed a fraction, enough to let him see it. "Good," I said. "Because I'm not letting you."
He exhaled, long and slow, and when he looked up this time there was something steadier behind the blue. "Okay," he said. "I'll stay."
The edges of my mouth twitched, almost a smile.
"You hungry?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
He shrugged, and my patience wore thin. "Look, I can read you, Newt. If you want something, just say it."
His cheeks went red. "Maybe some coffee. If that's okay."
