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But now—

She’s shaking.

The adrenaline’s crashing.

The reality hitting.

And that—

That hits me harder than anything else tonight.

I cross the distance in two strides.

Hands on her shoulders.

“Tess—hey—look at me.”

Her eyes lift to mine.

Wide.

Glassier now.

“He got away,” she whispers.

Yeah.

He did.

And I hate that she knows what that means.

“It’s not your fault,” I say immediately.

Her head shakes. “He came for me—”

“And we stopped him,” I cut in, firm. “We’re still standing. You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

Her breath stutters.

Like she’s trying to hold it together.

Trying not to break.

I soften just enough—

Just for her.

“He’s not getting to you,” I say, quieter now. “Not ever.”

That does it.

Something in her cracks.

Not panic.

Not fear.

Something deeper.