Her voice cuts through the spiral.
I glance over. “I wasn’t aware that was a thing.”
“It is when your face does that,” she says, shifting slightly to look at me.
“What does it do?”
“Tightens,” she replies. “Like you’re trying to hold something in place.”
Accurate. I huff out a quiet breath. “Occupational hazard.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
She studies me, waiting. I feel the weight of it, the choice sitting right there. Tell her. Don’t tell her. Protect her. Control the outcome. That’s the instinct. That’s always been the instinct. Control isn’t the same as protection. And forcing choices-
I exhale slowly.
“I made a decision,” I say finally. “Recently.”
Her expression shifts, attention sharpening. “About the case?”
“About you.”
That stills her completely. “What kind of decision?” she asks carefully.
I hold her gaze. “The kind I don’t get to make anymore.”
Silence stretches between us.
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” she says.
“I’ve been… directing things,” I admit. “Controlling variables and outcomes.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“No,” I say. “It shouldn’t.” I shift forward slightly, resting my forearms on my knees. “But I’m not doing that anymore,” I continue.
She watches me, clearly skeptical. “You’re just… stopping?”
“I’m choosing to.”
“Why?”
Because I already crossed a line. Because I took something without asking. Because if I keep going like this, I won’t be any different than the people we’re hunting. The thoughts stack up, heavy and unrelenting.
“Because you deserve a say,” I assert instead. “In what happens next. In where you go. What you do.”
Her gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through it. “And you’re okay with that?” she asks.
No. Not even a little. “I will be,” I accept.
“That’s not very convincing.”
“It’s honest.”
That, at least, lands. She leans back slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “What changed?” she asks.
