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I do not rush to fill the silence. Do not explain. Do not turn it into a speech she has to answer.

I simply let the truth exist.

Her eyes search mine.

“When did you know?”

I could lie and make it romantic. Tell her it was the murder hole, our first kiss, or some dramatic moment with moonlight and gunfire.

Truth is uglier.

“Before Razor took you.”

Sweet's breath catches.

“I knew while you were walking away from me.”

“After the coffin?”

“Yeah.”

Her face tightens. “That is a terrible time to discover love.”

“I got shitty timing.”

“You had shitty everything.”

“Also fair.”

She looks down at our joined hands.

“I didn't say it because saying it then would've been another thing I put on you while you were trying to survive what I did.”

Her eyes lift.

“I didn't say it after the murder hole because you didn't owe me love for catching your wrist.”

A tear slips down her cheek.

I do not wipe it away.

My fingers tighten around hers instead.

“And I ain't saying it now because I think a few days of decent behavior bought me something.”

“Then why now?”

“Because you're safe.”

My voice roughens.

“You picked the school without me. You chose to walk over here. You chose to take my hand. If you walk away after I say this, I will let you.”

Sweet's mouth trembles.

“I love you.”

I make myself say the rest.