Deliberate.
“He won’t succeed.”
I believe her.
Not because it’s easy.
Because it’s not.
But because I’ve seen her under pressure.
I’ve seen what she does when everything’s on the line.
She doesn’t fold.
She sharpens.
Just like me.
“That’s not what worries me,” I say.
Her brows pull slightly. “What does?”
I reach up—slow, giving her time to pull away if she wants.
She doesn’t.
My fingers brush lightly along her jaw, grounding, steady.
“He doesn’t need to break us,” I say quietly. “He just needs one moment.”
One misread.
One wrong move.
One second where instinct and trust don’t align.
That’s all it takes.
Scout doesn’t step back.
Doesn’t flinch.
“If he takes that moment,” she says softly, “we take it back.”
God.
Yeah.
That’s exactly who she is.
I let my hand fall, but I don’t step away.
“We stay ahead of it,” I say. “We control the field.”
Scout tilts her head slightly. “You think he’ll come to us?”
I shake my head.
