Page 65 of Let Me In

Not tense.

Just full.

His fingers are still curled around mine, warm and steady. His plate sits mostly untouched now, forgotten. And the fire throws soft light across his face—across the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint hollows beneath his eyes. He’s not trying to hide anything.

Not anymore.

And maybe that’s why I ask.

Not to satisfy curiosity.

Just to understand.

“Were you… Army?”

His eyes shift to mine. Just a flick.

Then he nods once. “Special ops. For a while.”

His voice stays quiet. Matter-of-fact.

Then, after a breath: “Private sector after that.”

That’s all he says.

But it’s enough.

Enough to explain the steel in his posture. The precision in his movements. The way he stands like he’s still waiting for an order he’ll never take again.

The shadows in his gaze.

The silence he carries like a second skin.

I nod slowly. Don’t press.

I just study the hand still wrapped around mine, the strong curve of his fingers, the faint scars along his knuckles.

I swallow.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He blinks. Looks at me—sharp at first, confused.

“Not for that,” I rush to add. “Just… that you had to carry it. That you still do.”

I meet his eyes, even though my chest is tight.

“I wish you didn’t have to carry it alone.”

His breath catches.

Just slightly.

And when I speak again, it comes out softer than I mean it to. Almost like a question. Almost like a vow.

“Can I help?”

That undoes him.

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