Page 188 of The Rules
Black. Matte. Clean lines and quiet menace.
A knife.
No dramatics. No explanation. Just the soft click of him unfolding it once, inspecting the edge, then folding it again with the same care.
He handed it to her.
“Keep it on you,” he said, his voice quieter now—low, steady, but edged with something tighter. Not quite fear. Not quite anger. Just control, stretched thin.
Katherine blinked. Looked down at the weapon resting in his palm. Then up at him.
It looked almost delicate there—resting on fingers that had just helped shift the course of a case no one thought winnable. But there was nothing gentle in the offering. No ceremony.
No metaphor.
Just steel. And silence.
“You really think I’ll need this?” she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.
Ben didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.
Katherine held his gaze, searching—desperate to find reassurance, a flicker of doubt, something that would tell her he was being overly cautious.
That this wasn’t what it felt like.
But Ben’s eyes gave her no such reassurance.
They didn’t hold panic.
Or fear.
Only calculation. Care. And underneath it all, something quieter. Something harder to name. Protectiveness.
“I think it’s better to have it and not need it,” he said, his voice quiet—measured, but edged with something that didn’t invite argument.
She hesitated. Then slowly curled her fingers around the handle. Lighter than she expected. Balanced. Functional.
Not dramatic. Not ornamental. Designed to disappear until the moment it was needed.
“Just take it,” he added, softer now—yet still unwavering.
And that quiet conviction?
It wasn’t about the blade.
It was about her.
Katherine swallowed, the weight of it settling deeper than the knife in her palm. This wasn’t about whether she could fight.
Or if danger might come.
It was about what Ben wouldn’t say.
That he couldn’t always be there.
That the next time, she might be alone.
And still—he wanted her ready.
