Santiago held her gaze without flinching. "You're alive."
The statement carried more weight than any confession. Daniella looked away, eyes tracing the shadow on the ceiling as the full shape of it settled over her: the car, the pursuit, the choice, none of it random. All of it measured. All of it is his.
"They didn't stop being people," she whispered, voice cracking on the last word.
Santiago took one deliberate step forward, then another, until he stood at the foot of the bed. Close enough that she could see the faint scar along his jaw, the way the lamplight carved shadows beneath his eyes.
"They stopped being a threat," he answered.
Her gaze snapped back to his, sharper now, almost accusing. "And that makes it easier?"
"No." The denial was immediate, flat, and honest in a way that surprised her. "It makes it necessary."
Necessary.
