Roxie's POV
Raptor did not answer me.
He stood in the torchlight with my question hanging between us, and I watched him try to find words, and I watched the words fail him. His jaw worked. His hands opened and closed. A man who had faced down dragons could not face down five small words from me, and somehow that hurt worse than any answer could have.
"I don't—" He stopped. Started again. "Roxie, I have spent fifteen years believing I was a thing that breaks whatever it touches. My own father. My own pack. I learned not to hold anything too close, because holding it meant feeling it shatter." His voice was rough, scraped raw. "You ask me if I would die for you. And I want to tell you yes. The yes is already in my mouth. But the word for what I feel—the word other people use so easily—I
