Page 111 of Joker

This steady, rough-edged, unexpectedly careful version of him is impossible to defend against.

He takes another sip of coffee, then says, “You good?”

Such a simple question.

No hidden agenda. No pressure. Just checking. And somehow that nearly brings me to my knees. Because no one has ever asked me that in a tone that made it clear they actually wanted the truth.

Not really. Not without wanting something in return.

I swallow around the sudden tightness in my throat and manage, “Yeah.”

He studies me for a beat. Then, because apparently he has decided to spare me total emotional collapse before breakfast, he says, “That answer was average at best.”

I laugh again.

And there it is.

That strange, impossible normalcy settling around us like it has every right to be here.

Coffee. Morning light. His cut over a black T-shirt. Me standing barefoot in his kitchen after sleeping in his bed.

Lexi safe down the hall.

No pressure. No fear. No sharp edge waiting to cut me open the second I relax. Just…this.

And that’s when it hits me.

Not all at once. Not dramatic. Just a slow, devastating truth sliding into place so cleanly I can’t pretend I don’t see it.

The dangerous part isn’t that I slept with him.

It isn’t the sex. It isn’t even the way my body still remembers every second of last night like it’s etched into muscle and bone.

No.

The dangerous part is this.

The coffee. The checking on Lexi. The way he gave me space without making me feel abandoned in it. The way he made the morning after feel safe instead of precarious. The way I can already imagine what this could become if I let it.

And worse than that—

The way some part of me already wants to.

I stare down into my coffee because looking at him right now feels too dangerous. Because I know exactly what kind of cliff I’m standing on now. And because for the first time since I ran, I’m not scared of falling.

I’m scared of how badly I want to.

I know I’m fucked before I even open my eyes.

Because the first thing I register isn’t the room or the time or the low, familiar rumble of the clubhouse waking up around me.

It’s her.

Warm and half-curled into my side, one leg tangled with mine under the sheet, dark hair spread over my pillow like she belongs there. And if that doesn’t tell me exactly how bad this is, nothing will.

I stay still for a second, staring at the ceiling while the full weight of it settles in.

Raven in my bed. Raven asleep against me. Raven soft and unguarded in a way she never is when the world’s looking.