“He doesn’t get that control,” Logan says.
“He already has access.”
“Not to you.”
A beat.
“Not like that.”
I study him.
Trying to understand how he can be so sure.
“How do you know?” I ask.
His gaze doesn’t waver.
“Because you’re still choosing.”
The words settle into me.
Slow.
Steady.
“You felt it,” he continues. “And you didn’t disappear.”
I exhale.
A long, controlled breath.
“That doesn’t mean I won’t.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“That you didn’t this time.”
Simple.
But it shifts something.
Because he’s not asking for perfect.
He’s asking forpresent.
“I don’t want to be the reason this gets worse,” I say quietly.
“You’re the reason we see it,” he replies.
That reframes everything.
And I feel it.
The difference.
Not blame.
