Page 100 of Joker

“You don’t have to.” I take another step closer.

Close enough now that I can see the faint tremor still running through her hands even though she’s trying like hell to hide it.

“I saw what happened,” I tell her.

Her jaw tightens. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It was just loud and I—”

“It wasn’t the room.”

That stops her.

Dead.

Her eyes flick back to mine, searching, cautious, like she’s trying to figure out how much I actually see.

Enough. More than enough.

“You flinched before anyone touched you,” I say, voice low and steady. “You locked up when he got too close. You checked your exits twice in under a minute before that even started. You’ve been doing it since you got here.”

She stares at me.

I don’t look away. “I’m not stupid,” I add.

Something in her expression cracks just a little. Not wide open. Not falling apart. Just…enough.

Enough to let me in past the surface.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” I continue, softer now but no less certain. “You don’t have to say a damn word if you don’t want to. But don’t stand there and tell me it’s nothing when it’s clearly something.”

Her throat works.

For a second, I think she’s going to shut down again. Pull back. Lock it all away.

Then she exhales, shaky and quiet. “It’s not…” She pauses, searching for the words and hating that she has to. “It’s not always like that.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

Another breath.

“He…” She stops again, jaw tightening like even saying his name might summon him. “Cal didn’t like being ignored.”

The name lands like a loaded weapon. I don’t react outwardly. Inside, something goes still.

“Didn’t like it when I talked to people he didn’t approve of. Didn’t like it when I went places without telling him first. Didn’t like…” She huffs a humorless breath. “A lot of things.”

Her hands twist together briefly, then still like she caught herself. “He started small,” she says. “Just…comments. Things I was doing wrong. Things I could do better. Things I shouldn’t do at all.”

I let her talk.

Don’t interrupt. Don’t push. Because this is the first real piece she’s giving me, and I know better than to grab at it like I’m owed more.

“It got worse,” she adds, quieter now.

Yeah. I figured.