“You protected children.”
“You fought back.”
“You remembered names.”
“You carried people through hell tonight while still bleeding yourself.”
Emotion cracks through me so hard my chest physically hurts.
Clay leans closer.
“You are not Sentinel.”
The words hit deeper than anything else tonight.
Because part of me was terrified he’d believe it too.
That maybe everyone would.
That maybe I really was damaged beyond repair.
His forehead rests briefly against mine despite the freezing rain.
“You hear me?”
My lips tremble.
“Yes.”
But he doesn’t stop there.
Thank God he doesn’t stop there.
His eyes search mine like he’s trying to make absolutely sure I understand this.
“You are the woman who walked back into hell to save children.”
My entire chest caves inward emotionally.
Because nobody has ever looked at me like this before.
Not broken.
Not dangerous.
Not unstable.
Worth saving.
Something shifts between us right there in the freezing Romanian rain.
Not lust.
Not tension.
Something deeper.
More terrifying.
