You slow near the staircase without realizing it.

Mr. Peterson steps into the space between you and the first step—not blocking it completely. Just close enough that you’d have to brush past him.

He doesn’t raise his voice.

“Where are you going?” he asks mildly.

His hand rests on the railing. Casual. Possessive.

“You don’t need to go up there right now,” he adds. “Stay here with me.”

A pause.

“You’re safe when you listen.”