Not him.
“You picked a good one,” Grandpa says suddenly.
I glance back at him.
“What?”
He nods toward Havoc.
“That one,” he says. “He doesn’t run.”
My throat tightens.
“No,” I whisper. “He doesn’t.”
Havoc looks up.
Like he felt me watching.
Our eyes meet.
And everything else fades.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to remind me—
This is real.
He walks toward the house.
Slow.
Steady.
That same confidence.
That same strength.
But softer now.
War still in him.
But not consuming him anymore.
“You’ve been staring,” he says when he reaches me.
I smile.
“Can you blame me?”
His mouth tilts slightly.
“No.”
He steps closer.
Close enough that I can feel him before he even touches me.