“I’m not asking.”
“You don’t?—”
“Maddie.”
My name drops between us, heavier this time, rougher.
And I feel it.
That shift again.
The same one from before.
Only sharper now.
More dangerous.
“You ran,” he says.
I stiffen. “I already said I wasn’t going to?—”
“You left a note and ran.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“You made yourself easier to find.”
The truth of that stings.
I hate that it does.
“I didn’t know he was this close.”
“I did.”
I blink. “You did?”
“I had a feeling.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
His jaw tightens. “I was trying to confirm it.”
“By not telling me?” I shoot back. “That’s your version of protection?”
“My version of protection is making sure you don’t panic before I know what we’re dealing with.”
“I wasn’t panicking.”
“You ran.”
Silence slams down between us.
Because he’s right.
Because I did.
“Don’t do that again,” he says.
