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I take the hit. Because she's right about one thing. I am suddenly part of her life again. And neither of us knows what that means.

"I didn't come here because of you."

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Her expression changes. Not anger.

Something worse. Hurt.

"Right."

"Carys—"

"No, it's fine."

She steps back.

"That actually makes more sense."

"That's not what I meant."

"It sounded pretty clear."

This is exactly why I avoided this. Because every conversation with Carys has always mattered too much.

"You were part of the reason."

I see the smallest shift.

"I came because of the case."

I continue.

"But when I saw your name..."

I stop. Because admitting the truth feels impossible. Because I spent 15 years telling myself I was over it.

I wasn't.

"I knew something was wrong."

Her expression hardens again.

"You always did have a hero complex."

"No."

The answer comes faster than expected.

"No, I didn't."

"Really?"

"No."

I step closer.

"I had a guilt complex."

That silences her. Good. Because it's the truth.