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Doesn’t demand an explanation.

He simply listens.

“I spent three years with a man who thought he had the right to make every decision for me,” I say. “What I wore. Where I went. Who I talked to. And I’m not doing that again.”

His gaze softens.

“Then you shall make your own decisions.”

“Exactly.”

“Except perhaps the decision to walk alone through a storm while frightened.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“That was a poor decision.”

“Well, forgive me for not consulting the naked statue first.”

“Forgiven.”

I stare at him.

He stares back.

Then I burst out laughing.

It’s ridiculous.

All of it.

The storm. The statue. The naked god with the personality of an overprotective bouncer.

And somehow, laughing feels better than crying.

Vidar watches me with an expression I can’t quite identify.

“What?” I ask.

“Your laughter.”

“What about it?”

“I like it.”

The simplicity of his answer steals my next sarcastic remark.

He glances toward my wrist again.

“I will not pursue him.”

I blink.

“You won’t?”

“You have asked me not to.”