“She wants leverage,” he continues. “She wants something I won’t risk losing.”
His gaze flicks toward the hallway where the baby sleeps.
“She’ll never touch my daughter,” he says quietly. “Not once. Not ever.”
“I’m not asking you to hide!” I snap.
I catch myself and lower my voice again.
“I’m asking you to think about Emmy.”
He gestures toward the hallway.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“And if they escalate again?” I ask. “If it’s worse next time?”
His jaw tightens.
“I won’t let them hurt her.”
“You can’t control everything!” I say, the words coming out sharper than I meant.
Silence fills the room.
Heavy.
Then Saint speaks again.
Quietly.
“I can die trying.”
The words hit me like a slap.
My chest tightens.
“That is not romantic,” I whisper. “That is not brave. And it is not fair.”
His expression shifts.
Like I’ve wounded him somehow.
“I don’t know how to do this halfway,” he says.
And I believe him.
That’s the terrifying part.
I take a slow breath.
“I do,” I say softly.
“Because I have to.”
I step closer.
“We need you alive.”
