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Scout
Idon’t panic.
That’s the first thing.
Not because I don’t feel it.
Because I’ve spent my entire life learning how not to.
Tessa.
The name echoes once—sharp, precise—and then everything inside me locks into place.
Control.
Containment.
Function.
I move through the room, gathering what I need, checking what matters, my hands steady even when something deeper tries to rise.
I don’t let it.
Not yet.
Not here.
“Scout.”
Logan’s voice is close.
Grounding.
I don’t stop moving.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
“Scout.”
Different this time.
Not correcting.
Calling me back.
I pause.
Just long enough.
Then I look at him.
“I need to stay focused,” I say.
“You are.”
A beat.
