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Her jaw tightens slightly.
“And you think he’ll come at me again.”
“I think,” I say carefully, “he’ll come at you differently.”
She goes very still.
“How?”
I don’t soften it.
“Through anything you care about.”
Silence.
Heavy now.
Real.
Her eyes flick to mine again, sharper this time.
“Logan—”
“I know.”
I cut her off gently.
Because I already see where her mind is going.
“No,” I repeat, quieter.
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I’m not deciding for you.”
“You’re already stepping in front of it.”
“Yes.”
That lands.
Hard.
Her expression shifts—not anger.
Not fear.
Something more complicated.
“You can’t take that on,” she says.
“I already have.”
“Why?”
There it is again.
That question.
