Page 130 of Let Me In

His hand reaches, not to tug—but to rest over mine again—warm, steady, so much bigger than mine.

“Emmy.”

Just my name.

And somehow, it settles me more than a whole speech might.

“I want to make sure you know something,” he says, voice low. Measured. “Before anything else happens.”

I look up at him. Slowly.

His thumb brushes along the edge of my hand.

“You have a word,” he says. “If it ever feels too much. Too fast. Too anything.”

My chest goes still.

“You say it,” he adds. “And everything stops.”

I swallow. My voice barely makes it out.

“What is it?”

“Red.”

He says it like it means something.

Like it’s a lifeline, not a test.

“If you say it,” he murmurs, “we stop. Immediately. No questions. No frustration. Just me, holding you.”

My throat tightens.

I nod.

But something in me still hesitates. Still braces.

He squeezes my hand gently.

“You’re not powerless here, little one,” he says. “You’re mine. That means I protect you—even from this. Even from me.”

Something in me eases. Not completely.

But enough.

Because he saw it. Because he gave me a way out before I even asked for one.

And that? That feels like love.

My lips part. But I can’t bring myself to speak.

And he waits.

One more heartbeat.

Then he gently takes my hand. And I let him.

Because even though my legs feel unsteady, even though my chest is tight, there’s something in the way he moves—calm, unshakable—that makes it feel like all I have to do is follow.

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