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My chest tightens again.
I don’t move.
Don’t respond.
Isa exhales slowly.
Then—she shifts closer.
Careful with the boot.
Controlled.
Deliberate.
“Tristan,” she says.
Soft.
But there’s something under it now.
Something firmer.
“I’m not stupid.”
My eyes flick back to hers.
“I know what that was,” she continues.
Her voice doesn’t shake.
Doesn’t crack.
“That wasn’t nothing.”
No.
It wasn’t.
“And I know you felt it,” she adds.
A beat.
“Because I did too.”
That makes my brows pull slightly.
She lets out a small breath.
“Not the same way,” she clarifies. “But I felt the shift.”
Isa adjusts her grip on the crutch, then looks up at me fully.
No mask now.
No sweetness.
Just—truth.
