Her mom’s eyes flick between us.
Mark’s expression doesn’t soften. “That’s not what I asked,” he says.
I tilt my head slightly. “It’s the answer you’re getting.”
The room tightens. Just enough.
Mark leans forward again, forearms braced on the table. “You think that’s enough?” he presses. “You show up here, won’t even give a real name, and just, what, claim her?” The word hits the table like a challenge.
I don’t flinch. “She’s with me,” I repeat. My tone doesn’t change. Doesn’t rise. Doesn’t sharpen. That’s what makes it land harder.
Mark’s chair scrapes back slightly as he shifts forward more. “Yeah? And what happens when whatever you’re into follows you here?” he shoots back. “You bring that shit into her life and then what? You walk away when it gets bad?”
My body starts to move before the thought finishes. Not fast. Not explosive. Just a shift. A lean. A readiness. The kind that doesn’t need noise to be understood.
And then… her hand. Light. Warm. On my arm. It’s barely pressure. Barely there. But it stops me. Not because it holds me back. Because it centers me.
I look down at it for half a second. Then back at him. The tension in my shoulders eases. Not gone. Controlled. Reined in.
For her.
“I don’t walk away,” I say. Still calm. Still steady.
Mark holds my gaze, searching for something in it. Maybe weakness. Maybe doubt. He won’t find either. “And if something comes for her?” he pushes.
My jaw tightens. “You think I’d be sitting here if I wasn’t already prepared to handle that?” That shifts something. Not enough to ease him. Enough to make him pause.
Her mom clears her throat softly. “Maybe we can all—”
“We’re not done,” Mark cuts in, not looking away from me.
I almost respect it.
Olivia’s hand presses a little more firmly into my arm. Not stopping. Grounding.
I shift slightly in my seat, adjusting instead of reacting. Adapting. For her. “I’m not the problem,” I tell him.
“That’s not convincing,” he shoots back.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not supposed to be.” That earns a flicker of something in his eyes. Confusion.
Then, my phone buzzes. Once. Sharp. I don’t look at it immediately. I don’t break eye contact. It buzzes again. I pull it out. One glance. That’s all it takes.
Dom: They’re not done.
A second message follows before I can lock the screen.
Dom: We picked up chatter. Direct. Not coded.
Dom: It said, “We’ll get her. One way or another.”
Something in me goes completely still. Not calm. Not controlled. Something deeper. Colder. Everything sharpens. The room. The people. The exits. The threats. All of it aligns into something clear.
War.
I slide the phone back into my pocket. Slow. Measured.
Olivia’s hand is still on my arm. She feels the shift. I know she does. I look at her. Just for a second. She meets my gaze. Reads it. Doesn’t ask. Not here. Not now.
