He was sitting on the floor.
Not the bed, not the chair by the window. The floor, in the corner farthest from the door, his back pressed against the wall like he needed something solid behind him. His knees were drawn up, his arms wrapped around them, his head bowed so I couldn't see his face.
When he lifted his head, his eyes were red-rimmed. Exhausted.
"The memories are getting worse."
I closed the door behind me. "Tell me."
"They're not fading like Neal said they might. They're getting clearer. More detailed." His jaw tightened. "I can see the room now. The table. The faces of the people who held me down."
The bond pulsed between us.
"When I'm inside them," he said slowly, "I don't know where I am. I don't know who's in front of me. I don't trust myself."
He met my eyes.
"I don't trust myself around you."
"Stone—"
"I need you to hear this." His voice was steady. Deliberate. "When the memories take over, I'm not here. I'm back in that room. And anyone who touches me becomes one of them."
I understood what he was doing. Protecting me. Being responsible. Making the rational choice to put distance between us before something went wrong.
It was logical. It was also bullshit.
"So what's your plan?" I asked. "Push me away until you're healed? Isolate yourself until the memories stop?"
"If that's what it takes."
"It won't work."
He flinched.
"The bond," I said. "You feel it right now, don't you? Pulling at you. Making everything sharper."
His silence was answer enough.
"This isn't just your trauma, Stone. This is the bond amplifying everything. Every time you push me away, it pulls harder. Every time you try to isolate, it makes you more unstable." I stepped closer. "You're not protecting me. You're making it worse."
His hands clenched on his knees. "You don't know that."
"I feel it. Right now. The bond screaming between us because you keep trying to starve it."
His eyes flashed gold. Anger. Good. Anger was better than that dead, resigned distance.
"So what do you want me to do?" The words came out rough. "Just pretend I'm not dangerous? Let you sit next to me while I relive being strapped to a table?"
"I want you to stop using me as your only anchor."
That hit him. I saw it land—the confusion, the hurt, the flash of something that looked like betrayal.
"Talk to Cal," I said. "He's been where you are. He knows what it's like to come back from the feral dark."
"Cal doesn't—"
"Talk to Neal. He's a healer. He can help you build a framework for this."
