"What if they're right?"
The question hung in the car like something fragile and dangerous at the same time.
Dante didn't answer immediately.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, the only sign that the question had landed exactly where she knew it would.
"They're not," he said finally.
Camille let out a quiet breath.
"That was too fast."
"It doesn't need more time."
"Yes, it does," she said, turning toward him. "Because this isn't about them anymore. It's about me."
His jaw shifted.
"Exactly," he said. "Which is why you don't go back there."
"That's not an argument."
"It's a decision."
She shook her head.
"You keep doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Acting like you can decide things for me."
"I'm not deciding for you," he said, his voice tightening slightly. "I'm telling you what happens if you make the wrong choice."
Her eyes narrowed.
"And you're the one who decides what's wrong?"
"No," he replied. "Experience does."
A short, sharp silence followed.
