My stomach flips. Anger sparks. “Excuse me?”
He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t move closer. “Not until we know who has your name.” The explanation follows. Not softening. Clarifying.
“That’s not your decision,” I say, my voice sharpening.
“It is right now.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is here.”
Frustration burns hotter. “You don’t get to just… decide things for me.”
His expression doesn’t change. “They tried to take you,” he says. “They had your life on paper. You walk out that door, you walk back into their plan.”
“That doesn’t mean I stay here with people I don’t know.”
“It means you don’t go back alone.” The words land differently. Not controlling. Not random. Focused. Something shifts again.
I don’t like how much it affects me. I look at him for a long second. Trying to figure him out. Trying to understand what he is in this situation. Threat. Protection. Both. Something else. “I’m not staying here forever,” I say finally.
He doesn’t argue. “For now works.”
The same words from before. They hit the same way. Worse, maybe. Because now I understand them better. Because now I know he means them. I exhale slowly. “I’m only staying because I don’t have a choice right now.”
He doesn’t respond to that. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t correct me. He just… accepts it. Then he says, “you’re not staying in here.”
I blink. “What?”
“The infirmary,” he says. “You’re done with it.”
My stomach tightens again. “Where am I staying then?”
His answer doesn’t hesitate. “With me.”
Everything in me reacts at once. Alarm. Confusion. Something deeper I don’t want to touch. “That’s not… no. That’s not happening.”
“It is.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”Again. That same final tone. That same certainty.
I push up slightly from the bed, ignoring the weakness in my legs. “I am not just moving into your room because you decided it.”
His eyes don’t leave mine. “No one else is watching your door the way I will.” That stops me. Because it’s not a threat. It’s not control for the sake of control. It’s… logic. Protection. Focused and deliberate.
“I don’t need you to watch me,” I say, even though it sounds weaker than I want it to.
“You do right now.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
He doesn’t react to that. “Doesn’t change it.”
