Just deciding.
Then she nods once.
“Okay.”
That word shouldn’t matter as much as it does.
But it does.
I step in, slower this time—not like the facility, not urgency, not extraction—just careful. My hand settles at her waist, the other at her arm, steadying her as she stands.
She sways.
Just slightly.
Enough.
I don’t hesitate.
I lift her again.
This time she doesn’t grip my sleeve like before.
Her hand slides up, resting against my shoulder—closer, more certain.
Progress.
The rotors wind down behind us, the noise fading into something distant. My team is already moving—voices, motion, containment—but it all feels… far away.
It’s just her.
“You always do that?” she murmurs.
“Do what?”
“Take over.”
I glance down at her.
Her eyes aren’t accusing.
They’re curious.
“Only when someone needs it,” I answer.
“And if they don’t?”
“Then I don’t touch them.”
That earns me something.
A real reaction.
Her fingers curl slightly into my shoulder, testing that answer, like she’s deciding if she believes me.
“You asked,” she says softly.
“I did.”
