This is happening.
And I don’t pull back.
I lean into it.
Because this isn’t something being taken.
This is something I’m giving.
My fingers curl lightly into his shirt, grounding, anchoring, and for a second—just a second—the noise in my head goes quiet.
No Sentinel.
No threat.
No strategy.
Just him.
Just this.
His mouth shifts against mine, deeper now, less restrained, and I feel the break in control—not loss—
Choice.
Again.
Everything with him comes back to that.
When he pulls back, it’s not far.
Just enough that I can feel his breath against mine.
His forehead rests lightly against mine.
Grounded.
Steady.
But different now.
“You still thinking?” he murmurs.
I let out a slow breath.
“Not as much.”
A quiet almost-smile touches his mouth.
“Good.”
My hand is still fisted in his shirt.
I don’t let go.
Neither does he.
And for the first time since this started—
