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“You let him stay.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still trying to convince yourself that makes no difference.”

Okay, that one hit its target.

I rubbed a hand across my jaw. “It complicates things.”

“How?”

“He’s twenty.”

“So?

I paused. “It changes the level of responsibility,” I said finally. “He’s not reckless. He knows what he wants. But if I blur lines, that’s on me. If I escalate something emotional and then can’t sustain it, that’s on me.”

Theo didn’t interrupt.

“With scenes,” I continued, “the terms are clear. The duration is defined. Expectations are negotiated. There’s an exit built in.”

“And with him?”

“There isn’t.”

Silence.

“That’s not a flaw,” Theo said.

“It’s exposure,” I retorted. Then I sighed. “I don’t get to manage this with protocol. He’s not asking to be trained. He’s not looking for structure to fix him. He’s choosing it, and that means I can’t hide behind it.”

Theo let that sit for a moment. “So what’s the actual risk?”

“Misjudging the depth,” I said. “Overcommitting. Or undercommitting.”

“But that’s always the risk.”

“Yes,” I said. “Which is why I don’t take it.” There was no defensiveness in my response, just fact.

“You’ve taken it before.”

“Once. And it cost someone.” I swallowed. “I won’t repeat that.”

“You won’t,” Theo replied, his tone earnest.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. Because you’re not the same man.”

I stared at the ceiling. “I want him, Theo.”

And there it was, the plain, unvarnished, simple truth.

Theo didn’t react immediately. “In what capacity?”

“Not just at Obsidian. Not just in scenes.” The clarity of it surprised me. “I don’t want to manage him. I don’t want to contain him. I don’t want to turn this into a dynamic just to make it feel safer.”

“And that scares you,” Theo said.