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I feel that.
Somewhere deeper than logic.
Deeper than training.
“But he got through,” I say.
“He didn’t.”
A pause.
“You’re still standing.”
I swallow once.
The weight in my chest shifting—not gone, but… changing.
“That’s not the same thing,” I murmur.
“It is to me.”
That lands.
Again.
Because he’s not measuring outcome.
He’s measuring me.
And that—
That’s new.
“I almost pulled back,” I admit quietly.
“I know.”
“I felt it.”
“I know.”
“I still feel it.”
That one is softer.
Harder.
More honest than I expect.
Logan doesn’t move.
Doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t try to fix it.
He just stays.
“I don’t want him using that,” I continue. “Not on you. Not on the team.”
