Page 64 of Let Me In

Then I feel his hand settle lightly over mine, grounding and warm.

“Try one more bite,” he says, tone gentling. “Just one. For me.”

And just like that, I do.

Because I want to be good for him, and something in his voice makes me feel safe. Seen.

Because even in the middle of whatever this is, he still wants to take care of me.

I chew slowly. Swallow.

He watches, then nods, satisfied. “Good girl.”

His voice, those words… glide through me like warmth slipping into cold hands. Not heavy. Not expectant.

Just warm.

We fall into quiet again. A few more bites. A few more glances exchanged in the hush.

And then—without warning—he sets his fork down.

Turns to face me a little more fully.

“I don’t know who was in that car,” he says, voice low, even.

My hand stills around my fork.

“But I know what it felt like.”

I look up.

His eyes are darker now. Storm-grey and steady.

“I used to hurt people,” he says. Simple. Honest. No embellishment. “Bad ones. People who earned it. People who made others small, or scared, or broken.”

He doesn’t look away.

“But sometimes the bad tries to shimmy back. It gets curious. Looks for a crack.”

My breath hitches.

He reaches across the small space between us and takes my hand again.

Not as an afterthought.

Like he needs to.

“But not here,” he says quietly. “Not you. Never you.”

His fingers tighten around mine.

“You have nothing to worry about, little one.”

And for the first time since I saw that car… I believe it.

Because it’s him saying it.

The silence stretches.

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