Brandon had learned the difference between silence and peace the hard way.
Right now, the house was quiet, but his shoulders were still tight, jaw set as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Brinley move around the room like she was afraid of bumping into something invisible.
Nitika noticed.
She always did.
"He's not here," Nitika said gently, breaking the tension without breaking the truth.
Brandon huffed. "Doesn't mean he's not around."
Brinley shot her brother a look. "He's not lurking, Brandon."
"I didn't say that," Brandon replied. "I said he's around. There's a difference."
Nitika hid her smile behind her coffee mug. "You're exhausting."
Brandon didn't argue. He rubbed a hand down his face instead. "I'm careful."
"So is he," Nitika said.
That got Brandon's attention.
He straightened, eyes narrowing slightly. "You trust him now?"
Nitika met his gaze without flinching. "I trust what I see."
Brinley froze, fingers tightening around the dish towel in her hands.
"And what do you see?" Brandon asked.
Nitika leaned back against the counter. "A man who shows up without making noise about it. A man who fixes things and leaves before anyone can thank him. A man who doesn't touch what isn't his to touch."
Brandon was quiet for a long moment.
"That doesn't erase what happened," he said.
"No," Nitika agreed. "But it reshapes it."
Brinley finally spoke. "He's not asking me for anything."
Brandon turned toward her, his expression softening despite himself. "That's what scares me."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because it means he's serious."
Nitika set her mug down. "Or it means he finally understands what trust costs."
Brandon glanced toward the window, where the porch light glowed brighter than it used to. He hadn't said anything when he noticed it had been fixed. He hadn't said anything about the cabinet hinge either. Or the way Jaxson always made sure Brinley's car faced the street when he left, small things that said prepared, not possessive.
"He hasn't crossed a line," Brandon admitted.
Brinley's breath hitched.
"And," Brandon added, "that's the first time I can say that and mean it."
Nitika smiled softly. "That's the shape of trust, Brandon. Not words. Not promises. Behavior."
Brandon exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding that breath for weeks. "If he hurts her , "
"He won't," Nitika said.
"You don't know that."
"No," she said calmly. "But he knows what he'd lose."
Brinley felt tears sting her eyes, not from fear this time, but from something fragile and unfamiliar.
Hope.
Later that evening, Brandon stood alone on the porch, staring at the driveway. Jaxson's truck wasn't there. It hadn't been in hours.
But the feeling remained.
"He's doing this right," Brandon muttered to himself.
And for the first time he didn't feel the need to warn anyone.