She smiles faintly.“Good.”
We sit there in the quiet aftermath of something far bigger than gunfights, politics, or wars.
“I don’t want to own you,” I say quietly.
She laughs with her head thrown back.“I wouldn’t let you.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to belong to anyone.”
“I know.”
Silence stretches between us.
“But,” she adds.That word hits like impact.“But,” she repeats calmly, “I want to choose where I stand.”
My pulse spikes.“And where do you stand?”
She holds my gaze.“With you.”
The world goes very still.Not euphoric.Not explosive.Just certain.
“As myself,” she continues.“Not your property.Not your obligation.Not your weakness.”
“I wouldn’t survive you as anything else.”
“Correct.”
I laugh, low, real, and relieved in a way I didn’t know existed.
“I’m not asking you to stay because I need you,” I say.
“Good.”
“I’m asking because I want you to.”
Raven studies my face carefully.Then she nods.“I’ll stay.”
My chest tightens.
“On two conditions.”
“Of course.”
“You never mistake my independence for distance.”
“I won’t.”
“And you never, ever, try to cage me.”
I meet her gaze steadily.“Raven...”
She waits.
“I learned that lesson the hard way.”
“Good,” she says softly.
