“Were?” she echoes, already laughing.
I glance at her, unimpressed.
“You still are,” I say flatly. “I’ve just accepted my fate.”
She laughs harder at that.
“You’ll be the death of me,” I add.
“Crybaby,” she shoots back immediately.
I stop walking.
She takes two more steps before realizing, then turns back to me.
I’m already looking at her.
Something darker. Quieter.
More certain.
“If I die,” I say slowly, “it won’t be because of you.”
Her laughter fades just a little.
“It’ll be for you.”
The words settle between us. Even I feel the weight of them after they leave my mouth.
Too real. Too honest.
She doesn’t look at me.
And for a second—I almost take it back.
Almost.
Then she clears her throat suddenly.
“I’m hungry,” she says.
I huff out a quiet breath, letting the moment loosen just enough.
“Let’s go,” I reply.
We turn back toward the house, walking side by side again.
“Is there anything in the fridge we can cook?” she asks as we approach.
A small smile pulls at my lips.
“Hm.”
I don’t answer properly.
When we step inside—
She stops.
