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“Come in,” I say.
My voice is steady.
Neutral.
Careful.
The door opens.
Logan.
Of course it is.
Something in my chest shifts at the sight of him—something warm, immediate—
And I shut it down.
Just a fraction.
Just enough.
“Morning,” he says.
His eyes move over me quickly—checking, assessing, confirming I’m upright.
Awake.
Functional.
“I’m good,” I say before he can ask.
He pauses.
Just slightly.
“You’re standing,” he replies.
“Yes.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
It’s the same conversation.
Different tone.
I nod once. “I know.”
That’s all I give him.
No edge.
No softness.
Just—
Flat.
His gaze sharpens.
