No.
Not even close.
I scan the street again automatically, the instinct drilled into me years ago. Every parked car. Every shadow. Every movement.
When I look back at her, she’s watching me.
And she knows something is wrong.
“What is going on?” she asks.
I hesitate.
For a moment I consider telling her everything. About Pavlov. About the quiet moves being made across the city. About how men like that don’t ask harmless questions unless they’re preparing to use the answers.
But the second she knows, she’s part of it.
And I will not do that to her.
So I shake my head.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
Her face hardens.
“Of course,” she says quietly. “Why would I be important enough to know?”
Something in me snaps.
“You are everything that matters.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Her eyes widen.
I step closer without thinking.
“You,” I say, my voice rough now. “And Noah. Nothing else comes close.”
The anger drains out of her face, replaced by something softer. More fragile.
Her eyes shine suddenly.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
Then she whispers, “Then why did you leave?”
The question cuts deeper than anything else she’s said tonight.
My fists tighten again.
Because men like me ruin everything we touch.
“There’s a dark side to this world,” I say quietly. “And you don’t belong in it.”
Her brow furrows.
“I won’t drag you into it,” I continue. “I won’t be the one who taints you.”
