For the first time—he sounded terrified. Not of the man. Not of pain. Ofme. Of what I meant. Of what that meant for him.
"That you matter."
The words hung between us, stretching too thin, too sharp. I didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to fix it. So I just—stayed. His breaths were still too fast, too uneven. His hands still shook where they were locked against himself. And his eyes— They weren't here. Not really. Like part of him was still in the past, still stuck in whatever hell that man had built in his mind.
"You're safe," I tried again, softer this time. His head snapped up. Not fast. Not sudden. But slow. Deliberate. Like he was just now realizing I was still here. That I hadn't left. That I hadn't— "I can't—" His voice cracked. He bit it off. Fury. Frustration. Fear. It all rippled through him like he was coming apart at the seams. And for the first time since I met him— He looked lost. Completely. Utterly. Lost.
"You don't have to do anything," I said, forcing my voice steady. Forcing myself to stay still. His jaw locked. His fists clenched tighter. "He's coming back." Not a question. Not a fear. A statement. A fact. Like he knew—no matter what happened, no matter how far he ran— He would never be free. And I hated—hated—that hebelievedthat.
"Then we'll be ready." I didn't think before I said it. Didn't even know what I meant by it. But he stilled and then his gaze—his wrecked, tormented, barely-holding-ongaze— Finally met mine. And for the first time— He looked at me like I wasn't a threat. Like I wasn't an obstacle. Like maybe—justmaybe— Iwas a chance.