Dane's POV:
"That's not the only reason I come to you."
My voice sounds steady, but I can hear the strain under it, like a wire pulled too tight.
Rain is looking at me as if I am something she no longer recognizes, and that look unsettles me more than anger ever could.
She is not shouting. She is not hysterical. She is simply tired. And that quiet resignation in her face feels worse than any accusation.
I'm going to repair this later, I promise.
"That's fine by me," I tell myself when she refuses to engage, when she looks away as if my presence exhausts her.
I need her safe. That is the priority.
Her happiness, her defiance, even her love — all of that can wait.
Even Us, it can wait.
Her safety cannot.
"You might be able to lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me," she says softly, and the tremor in her voice does not weaken the blow.
It sharpens it.
Slicing through bone and muscle in equal measure.
She pulls her top down gently, reclaiming space between us.
