She looks at me. Really looks.
“You chose me,” she says.
“Yes.”
“Not privately,” she adds. “Not quietly.”
“No.”
Her expression shifts—not triumph, not relief.
Weight.
“That’s going to cost you,” she says.
“It already has,” I reply. “And I accept that.”
She studies the map again. “Then we’re not running.”
“No.”
“We’re not pretending.”
“No.”
“And you’re not deciding for me what I can handle.”
I meet her gaze. “No.”
She nods once. “Good.”
The bond hums—not possessive, not demanding.
Aligned.
Outside, the forest breathes again—but it’s not retreating. It’s waiting.
Containment failed a long time ago.
Now we prepare for what comes next.
Together.
23
ELLIE
The phone screen blurs as my hands shake, but I don't look away from the message. Fear floods my system—cold, immediate, real. My chest tightens, breath catching in that familiar pattern I've known since childhood. The urge to disappear crashes over me like muscle memory.
Make yourself smaller. Quieter. Less of a problem.
I recognize the voice, that ancient whisper that kept me alive through school hallways that themselves seemed to taunt the fat girl; through family dinners where the echo around the table resounded withare you sure you need to eat that; and then through boardrooms where my presence felt like an intrusion magnified by my size.
It's louder now, more insistent, promising safety if I just step back, fade out, let someone else handle this.
"I need to sit down."
Caleb gestures to the chair across from his desk, but I remain standing. Sitting feels like surrendering, like accepting that this is too big for me.