She didn't speak much on the drive back.
Not because she was upset.
More like she was replaying something in her head and hadn't reached the end of it yet.
I didn't turn on the radio.
The quiet felt intentional.
When we got home, she kicked off her shoes and leaned briefly against the door, eyes closed, breathing out slowly like she'd been holding herself together for longer than she realized.
"…I'm tired," she said.
"Yes."
"…But not the normal kind."
I waited.
"…It's exhausting," she continued, opening her eyes. "Being aware all the time."
"That is expected," I replied. "Sustained alertness depletes energy."
She looked at me.
"…You make it sound like a science problem."
"It helps me understand it."
She nodded and walked toward the sofa, sitting carefully before leaning back.
I noticed that too.
"…You noticed," she said without opening her eyes.
"Yes."
"…Don't say it."
"I was not going to."
She cracked one eye open, suspicious.
"…You really weren't."
"No."
She relaxed again.
"…Good."
A few minutes passed in silence.
Then:
"…Back there," she said quietly, "…when that guy looked at me."
"Yes."
"…I almost panicked."
"You did not."
"…I wanted to."
"But you didn't," I replied. "That matters."
She turned her head slightly.
"…You stepped in front of me."
"Yes."
"…You didn't even think."
"That is inaccurate," I said. "I thought. Briefly."
She smiled faintly.
"…I felt smaller."
"That is not ideal."
"…Not like that," she corrected. "…I mean— safer."
I didn't respond immediately.
"…I understand," I said after a moment.
She opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling.
"…This is getting real."
"Yes."
"…Not scary real. Just… real."
"Yes."
She shifted, pulling the jacket tighter around herself before realizing she still had it on.
"…I forgot to give this back," she said, starting to shrug it off.
"Keep it," I replied.
She paused.
"…Why."
"It suits you."
She blinked.
"…That's it?"
"Yes."
Her cheeks warmed slightly.
"…You're bad at compliments."
"That was not intended as one."
"…That's worse."
She laughed quietly and settled back into the sofa, jacket still on.
"…I don't know what comes next," she said.
"That is acceptable."
"…You're not worried."
"I am," I replied. "But worry does not alter outcomes."
She turned her head toward me.
"…So what does."
"Preparation," I said. "And adjustment."
She considered that.
"…You really plan to stay."
"Yes."
"…Even when this gets complicated."
"Yes."
She was quiet for a long moment after that.
Then:
"…Okay."
One word.
Not relief.Not fear.
Acceptance.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
She glanced at it.
Didn't pick it up.
"…That's them," she said.
"Yes."
"…I'll answer later."
"That is reasonable."
She leaned back, eyes closing again.
"…Wake me if I fall asleep."
"Yes."
"…Gently."
"Yes."
I stayed where I was.
Outside, the city continued like nothing had changed.
Inside, something had.
Not loudly.
Not suddenly.
But enough that neither of us could pretend it hadn't