"I don't—" But that's not true; he knows. He rocks on his feet, brows pitched, looking at her now like a plea. Don't ask him that. Don't make him say it out loud and make it real, make it clear that he'd been blocking the door for a reason. That he could hurt someone who's not even twice his daughter's age, someone who's come to mean so much to him.

But she is asking, and she deserves an answer. His eyes drop.

"If I thought you'd do it again," he admits, quiet again. "Yeah."