“And you don’t think there’s overlap?”
My throat tightened—not because I didn’t have an answer, but because the answer wasn’t simple anymore.
“I think,” I said slowly, “that sometimes we confuse control with morality.”
Another silence.
Longer this time.
“You sound different,” she said.
“I am.”
The truth of it rang clear.
She exhaled softly. “Is this about rebellion?”
“No.”
“Then what is it about?”
I glanced at Cassian again. He hadn’t moved. His eyes hadn’t left mine.
Choice.
“It’s about not shrinking,” I said.
“For anyone.”
Something in her composure faltered then—not loudly, not dramatically. But I heard it. A faint crack in the polished surface.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” she said.
“I’m not proving,” I replied. “I’m deciding.”
“And he’s part of that decision?”
“Yes.”
The word settled into the space between us, steady and immovable.
On the other end of the line, my mother was quiet.
When she spoke again, her voice was softer than I could ever remember hearing it.
“I don’t want you to lose yourself,” she said.
The irony almost made me smile.
“I’m not,” I answered gently. “I’m finding something.”
“What?”
I let my gaze drift back to Cassian. He watched me with that same focused stillness, as though he were tracking not just my words—but the currents beneath them.
“Power,” I said.
Another pause.
