“You watched something in low light after a high-adrenaline event.” For a fleeting moment, I consider invoking an ancient, memory binding law that would keep her from speaking, but I can’t do that to her.
“That’s your argument?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” She exhales slowly and rubs a hand over her face, then drops it. “I’m not leaving town.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t get a vote.”
Her chin lifts a fraction. “Watch me.”
The air shifts between us.
I close the remaining distance without thinking, stopping just short of touching her. Close enough to see the flecks of hazel in her eyes. Close enough that the mate bond hums under my skin like a live wire.
“You’re underestimating this,” I say quietly.
“And you’re underestimating me.”
It would be easier if she were afraid.
The wolf surges again, demanding action. I step back before instinct overrides reason.
“I’m not debating this,” I say. “You leave tomorrow.”
“And if I don’t?”
The question hangs there.
Instead of answering, I walk to the nearest window. Outside, the clearing is empty now, moonlight washing over disturbed gravel and broken railing. No visible movement, but that doesn’t mean no one is watching.
“Then you’re going to find out why I warned you,” I say at last.
Her silence stretches behind me.
“That’s a threat,” she says finally.
“It’s a fact.”
She takes a step toward me. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
“I already did.”
Her breath hitches slightly, more frustration than fear. “You don’t own this mountain.”
I glance back at her. That’s debatable. I cross the room and reach for the door.
“That’s it?” she asks. “You show up, refuse to answer anything, tell me to leave, and walk out?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know what I’ve already documented.”
My hand pauses on the knob. It would take very little to ask. To find out how much she’s seen, how close she is to stumbling into something irreversible. I don’t.
