Skot’s mouth twitches.
“Didn’t say it to help you.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because she needs to hear it,” Skot replies, his eyes locking onto mine again.
I don’t look away.
“He’ll default back to force,” Skot continues, his voice rough but steady enough to carry. “When it matters. When it’s close. You don’t let him.”
“I won’t,” I say.
“You make him think,” he adds. “Even if he hates you for it.”
I huff a quiet breath.
“He already does.”
“Good,” Skot mutters. “Then you’re doing it right.”
There’s blood on his lips now, more than before, his breathing shallower with each pull.
“Hey,” I say, sharper now, pressing harder against his side like I can force the damage to stop if I just push enough. “Stay with me.”
“I am,” he says, though it sounds thinner now, further away.
His gaze shifts to Verr again.
“Don’t waste this,” Skot says.
“I won’t,” Verr replies, his voice lower now, steadier than it was before.
Skot studies him for a second, like he’s weighing something, then nods once.
“Good,” he murmurs.
His grip on my wrist loosens.
Then slips.
I feel it before I see it.
“Skot—”
He doesn’t respond.
The silence this time?—
Is final.
I stay there for a second longer than I should, my hand still pressed to his side, like if I move too soon it makes it real in a way I can’t undo.
Then I pull back.
Slow.
Because I don’t have time to fall apart.
