I hold his gaze.
“The part where you decide you know better and leave me out of it,” I say.
The words hang there, heavier than anything else we’ve said.
I can see the moment he realizes exactly what I’m pointing at.
“This isn’t the same,” he says, quieter now.
“It feels the same,” I reply.
Silence stretches between us, thick and charged.
“You said you made the wrong call,” I continue, my voice steadier now. “Back there. You said you should’ve moved when I did.”
“I did,” he says.
“Then why are you doing it again?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he looks at me like he’s trying to find a version of this where I understand without him having to say it.
“I’m not leaving you behind because I think you’re weak,” he says finally.
“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter.
“I’m leaving you here because if something goes wrong in there, I need to know you’re not caught in it,” he says.
“And if something goes wrong in there,” I counter, “you’re just… what? Gone?”
His silence answers that faster than anything else could.
“Wow,” I breathe, something tight twisting in my chest. “That’s your plan?”
“That’s the risk,” he says.
“No,” I shake my head, anger pushing through the exhaustion now. “That’s you deciding I don’t get a say in it.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive,” he snaps.
“And I’m trying to finish this,” I fire back. “Which doesn’t happen if you go in alone and don’t come back out.”
We stand there, the space between us charged with everything neither of us is willing to give up.
“Move,” I say finally, stepping past him. “We’re wasting time.”
His hand catches my arm before I make it two steps.
“Jolie,” he says, his grip firm.
“Let go,” I snap, trying to pull free.
“Not this time,” he replies.
I twist, trying to break his hold, but he shifts with me, his grip tightening just enough to stop me without hurting me.
“Don’t do this,” I warn.
