Silence settles between us, not empty, but full of consideration, and I let it stretch, because I need it, because this isn’t something I can rush.
“I could leave,” I say finally.
That shifts something in him, subtle but immediate, his posture tightening just slightly.
“Yes,” he replies.
“You wouldn’t stop me,” I add.
“No,” he says.
There’s no hesitation in it.
No hidden condition.
Just truth.
I nod once, absorbing that.
“And I’m not leaving,” I say.
This time, the shift is different.
Less tension.
More understanding.
“I know,” he replies.
I tilt my head slightly.
“You sound very sure of that,” I say.
“I am,” he answers.
“Why?” I ask.
He studies me for a moment, his gaze steady.
“Because you’re not staying out of necessity anymore,” he says. “You’re staying because you’ve decided to.”
I let out a slow breath.
“Yes,” I say. “I have.”
The word settles into something solid, something that feels less like a decision and more like a foundation.
“And that means something different,” I continue.
“It does,” he agrees.
I take another step closer, closing the space between us until there’s nothing left of it, not touching yet, but close enough that the distinction feels intentional.
“I’m not part of your system,” I say.
“No,” he replies.
“I’m not under your authority,” I add.
