LAYLA'S POV
Neither of us moves for a long time after I say "then don't stop."
The library is so quiet I can hear the clock on the wall and the sound of his breathing and the specific silence of a man deciding whether to cross a line he's been standing behind for six years.
Eli stands. Walks around the table. Stops in front of me and looks down at me with those dark eyes that have been watching me since I was fourteen years old, and the expression on his face isn't urgency or desperation. It's certainty. The calm, settled certainty of a man who has already made this decision a thousand times in his head and is finally letting his body follow.
He holds out his hand. I take it.
He leads me to his room without a word. Closes the door. Locks it. Turns to face me.
And then he just – looks
