Lara-Jean's POV
Something shifted after we found the files.
I don't know when it started. Maybe the night Peter showed me his father's journals. Maybe the morning after, when I woke up and looked at him and saw—for just a moment—a Kavinsky.
Not Peter. A Kavinsky.
The family that killed my parent.
I know it's irrational. I know Peter is different. I know he's fighting Victor, not protecting him.
But knowing and feeling are different things.
So I pull away. Small at first—sitting on the opposite end of the couch, going to bed earlier, finding reasons not to touch. Peter notices. Of course he notices. But he doesn't push.
He's giving me space.
I hate that he's giving me space. I hate that I need it.
A week passes.
We still have coffee together in the mornings. Still check in durin
