“Not inconsequential, Rylee. You could never be inconsequential.” He shakes his head subtly, the vibration of his voice resonating in me. He rests his forehead to mine, our noses brushing each other’s. “No—you and me—together,” he grinds the words out, “that would make you mine.” His words feather over my face, enter my soul, and take hold. “Mine,” he repeats, making sure that I understand his intentions.
