You’re standing in the fading light of the Weathervane, rain drumming steady against the windows. Tyler steps out from the dim edge of the room, the easy warmth you knew stripped away. His eyes lock on yours — steady, unblinking — until the air feels too tight to breathe.

“So,” he says quietly, “you finally see me.”

A slow step forward. “All this time, you thought I was on your side.” The ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth. “Guess I’m better at pretending.”

He closes the last few inches between you, the damp scent of rain and earth clinging to his jacket. His breath grazes your ear as he whispers, low and deliberate, “You weren’t wrong to trust me. Just wrong to think it was safe.”