The honesty in that lands hard.
I step closer.
Close enough now that I can see the fine tremor she’s holding back in her hands.
Not weak.
Controlled.
There’s a difference.
“They think they’re hunting you,” I say.
Her eyes lift to mine.
“They are.”
There’s no illusion there.
No denial.
Just truth.
I nod once.
“Then we stop letting them set the pace.”
Silence stretches between us.
But it’s not distance anymore.
It’s alignment.
“They’re watching for me to run,” she says.
“Good,” I reply.
Her brow furrows slightly.
“Why is that good?”
“Because it means they’re not ready for you to turn around.”
Something shifts in her expression.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Recognition.
I reach out—slow enough she can pull back if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
My fingers close gently around her wrist.
Steadying.
