I nod once, because that part matters.
“But I don’t like feeling like I’m standing in the shadow of something bigger than me,” he admits quietly, “and I can’t help that either.”
I reach up and cup his jaw firmly, forcing him to meet my eyes.
“You are not in my shadow,” I say, my voice steady and unyielding, “and you are not being replaced, and you are not surplus.”
His breath catches slightly.
“I love you,” I say, because it is the truth and because I do not say those words casually, not ever, “and I would never take your pack away from you.”
The words hang between us for a long second, heavier than strategy and louder than fear.
He searches my face, and I see the exact moment it settles into him that I mean it, that this is not reassurance born out of guilt or crisis, but something
