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Not him.
Not the way he’s looking at me.
Not the way this feels…
Familiar.
Dangerous.
No.
We are not doing that.
“On three,” I say.
“For what?”
I meet his eyes.
“For me to fix the problem you caused by getting shot.”
“I didn’t cause—”
“One,” I cut him off.
He exhales.
“…you’re enjoying this.”
“Two.”
“You are definitely enjoying this.”
“Three.”
I press.
Hard.
He sucks in a sharp breath, muscles locking under my hands.
There it is.
Pain.
Real.
Good.
That means he’s still here.
Still fighting.
Still—
Alive.
I work fast.
