The mood shifted like a blade drawn in silence.
My laughter faded. My expression hardened.
"Noel," I said, voice low and steady.
He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden gravity in my tone. He sat up slowly, bottle still in hand, brow furrowing as his eyes scanned mine.
"...What is it?" he asked, more cautious now. "You're being serious."
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I stepped forward, letting the weight of my words hang in the space between us.
"I have a plan," I said finally. "Something I need to set in motion soon."
Noel straightened his posture. The joking spark in his eyes had dimmed, replaced with focus. Concern.
"What kind of plan?" he asked.
I looked at him—truly looked.
Before I could tell him anything, I had to be sure. About him. About what he was willing to risk.
So I asked, "Do you trust me?"
He didn't answer right away. His fingers tapped against the side of the water bottle, eyes narrowing slightly—not in suspicion, but in thought.
