The confession lands between us like a fracture.
I do not step back. I do not look away. I stay exactly where I am, hands loose at my sides, breath shallow, eyes burning with something too close to breaking to be called control.
“I can’t keep living like this,” I say quietly. “Always bracing. Always waiting. I don’t want to feel hunted anymore.”
I see Damian react before he moves. His chest tightens. His shoulders draw in slightly, like he is containing something dangerous. He reaches for me without thinking, then stops himself inches away, as if even touch might undo me.
“Elena,” he says, voice low, steady only because he forces it to be. “If I touch you now, I won’t be able to pretend this is anything but real. Are you certain?”
I don’t answer with words.
I step closer.
I lift my
