The moment stretched between us like a wire pulled taut, too thin to hold weight, too sharp to ignore.
Mark's question still lingered in the air between us.
"What are you doing here?"
I swallowed, the words I'd rehearsed on the way here catching behind my ribs.
"I just needed to see Edward," I said, quietly but clearly. "That's all."
His expression didn't shift. Not right away. He stood straighter now, arms loosely folded across his chest again, like he needed something between us. His eyes were tired, bruised with the kind of exhaustion you don't fix with sleep. But even under the wear, his gaze was still sharp. Still guarded.
"You could've called," he said, voice tight. Not angry—just cautious.
"I didn't think you'd want to hear from me." I replied.
Something flickered across his face, just for a second. Surprise, maybe. Or regret. The kind of emotion you don't let out loud, because you're not sure it's safe yet.
