“So let me get this straight,” I say. “Because you showed interest in me, some rogue shifters decided I’m a potential leverage point.”
“Yes.”
“And now that I know all this—” I gesture between us, “—that makes it worse.”
“Yes.”
I nod slowly.
“Okay.”
He frowns slightly. “Okay?”
“Well, yeah,” I say. “What’s the alternative? Panic? Cry? Pack up and leave?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
I stare at him.
“Not happening.”
“Tessa—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I just opened this bookstore. I just started building something here. I’m not abandoning it because your world suddenly got more complicated.”
“It’s not just complicated,” he says. “It’s dangerous.”
“So is life,” I shoot back. “People deal with danger every day.”
“Not like this.”
“Maybe not,” I admit. “But I’m not running.”
He steps closer, frustration edging into his expression.
“You don’t understand what you’re risking.”
“Then help me understand,” I challenge. “Don’t just tell me to leave. Tell me what I need to know to stay.”
That stops him. Really stops him. Because it’s a different question. A different approach. Not rejection. Not denial. Adaptation. I see the shift in his expression. The calculation. The realization that I’m not going to back down.
“I can’t guarantee your safety,” he says finally.
“I don’t need guarantees,” I reply. “I need honesty.”
Another long pause. Then?—
“Fine.”
The word is quiet. Reluctant. But real.
“If you stay,” he continues, “you follow my rules.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your rules?”
“My protection.”
“That sounds suspiciously like control again.”
