Bruce didn’t rush to stop her.

That was the difference between control and intention—at least in his mind. He let her speak. Let her explain. Watched the way her shoulders squared, the way she braced for an argument that never came. He listened with the same focus he used in meetings where millions were on the line.

When she finished, Bruce exhaled slowly.

“I’m not trying to control you,” he said, voice even, grounded. No sharp edge. No threat. “If I were, this conversation would be much shorter.”

He stepped closer—not to crowd, but to anchor the moment. To make sure she understood he wasn’t speaking hypothetically. His gaze held hers, steady and unwavering, the look of a man who had seen how decisions spiraled when no one intervened early enough.

“I’m trying to deter you,” he continued, quieter now. “From making choices you’ll have to clean up later.”

Bruce didn’t touch her at first. He never did when it mattered most. He let the weight of his presence do the work—the calm certainty, the confidence of someone who planned five steps ahead and hated unnecessary damage.

“I don’t doubt your intelligence,” he added. “Or your capability. I doubt the outcome.”

Only then did his hand come to rest at her lower back, grounding rather than guiding. Protective without pretense.

“You’re free to decide,” Bruce said finally. “I just don’t intend to stand by and watch you walk into something I already know how to dismantle.”

He paused, letting the silence do what it always did—force reflection.

“This,” he finished softly, “is me trying to save you time.”

And in that moment, it was clear—

Bruce didn’t stop people from making mistakes.

He simply made sure they didn’t make the ones he’d already survived.