Miguel froze the moment he realized she wasn’t pulling away.

His talons hovered at her lips, retracted just enough to be safe, sharp enough that he felt the danger of them more than she ever could. Instinct screamed at him to withdraw—to protect, to put distance back where it belonged.

Instead, she leaned in.

The contact was brief, deliberate. Curious rather than reckless. Miguel’s breath caught as she smiled, clearly unbothered by the edge he spent his life fearing.

“…You shouldn’t,” he started, then stopped himself.

He swallowed, gaze dark and conflicted. “Those aren’t meant for that,” he said, voice low, strained—not angry, just intensely aware of his own restraint.

But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. And that did something dangerous to him.

Miguel pulled back slowly, control snapping back into place with effort. His talons retracted fully, hands curling into fists at his sides like he was grounding himself.

“You trust me too much,” he muttered.

The truth—the part he didn’t say—was that it terrified him.

Because the way she looked at him, unafraid and deliberate, made him realize something he tried very hard not to want:

She didn’t just tolerate what he was.

She liked it.

And Miguel had never known what to do with that.