It’s not loud.
Not harsh.
But it’s not a suggestion either.
I cross my arms. “You don’t get to?—”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the only one here who knows how to handle him.”
“That’s not?—”
“And because you’re not thinking clearly when you’re scared.”
My eyes flash. “I am thinking clearly.”
“No,” he says. “You’re reacting.”
“I had a plan.”
“You had fear.”
The words hit hard.
Too hard.
Because they’re true.
Because I hate that they’re true.
“You don’t get to decide what I feel,” I say, but there’s less fight behind it now.
“I don’t,” he agrees. “But I can see it.”
I look away.
Because I don’t want him to.
Because I don’t want him to see how close I am to losing it again.
A branch snaps somewhere deeper in the trees.
This time, Ethan doesn’t even flinch.
His entire body just shifts. Locks in.
Like something inside him just clicked into place.
“Stay here,” he says.
“No.”
His head turns slightly, just enough to look at me.
“Don’t argue with me right now.”
