Trevor sat on the cold porch steps, arms crossed, face scowling so hard it could’ve curdled milk.Rain was still falling, because of course it was. Perfect pathetic fallacy. He was wet, bruised, and had approximately zero dignity left after Davion flipped him in front of everyone like a sad omelette.“Stupid bastard,” he muttered, wiping blood off his lip with the back of his hand. His jaw ached. His ego ached worse.Inside, he could still hear his Bevely's mum screaming like she was auditioning for a telenovela. Probably yelling about Davion again. Trevor rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw his brain. She needed to chill. Like seriously. Take a bath. Eat some carbs.Davion this. Davion that. Davion came back. Davion brought trouble. Davion’s boots were muddy. Davion’s stare was full of secrets and angst. Blah blah blah.Everyone acted like he was some dark prince with a tragic past.He was just a jerk with good shoulders.Trevor punched the porch railing. It did nothing to help his

Davion came down the stairs with slow, measured steps. He didn’t care that he was still half-drenched from his early morning training in the rain or that his hoodie clung to him like a second skin. His jaw was locked tight, eyes sharp and unreadable. The main room of the safehouse—if you could even call it that—smelled like eggs and burnt toast.He hated that smell.He stepped into the dining area without a word. Everyone turned to look at him.Wesley was the first to speak, of course. “Morning, man. How’d you sleep?”Davion didn’t answer at first. He just stared at Wesley for a long second, letting the silence hang heavy. Then, in a voice as cold as a blade, he said, “Didn’t.”Wesley gave a little awkward chuckle like he was trying to lighten the mood. “Well… at least you're consistent.”“Yeah,” Davion muttered. “Lucky me.”There was a pause. Wesley scratched the back of his head, then motioned toward the table where plates were half-filled with food. “You can sit with us, if you wan

Davion threw his hoodie over the back of the chair and rolled his shoulders. His muscles ached from the fight yesterday—every punch, every bruise still screaming at him—but he had to stay sharp. This place—this creepy, falling-apart house—was eating at his brain like a parasite, and if he didn’t stay focused, it’d chew him up and spit him out.He found the punching bag in the basement. It was old and moldy, practically falling apart, but he didn’t care. The air down there was thick with mildew and dust, every breath tasting like death. He wrapped his hands in tape, pulling it so tight that it made his fingers throb, the ache grounding him.Then he started hitting. Hard. Again and again. His fists slammed into the bag, the thuds echoing in the dark like a heartbeat. He didn’t think about Beverley’s eyes or the way her voice cracked when she told him she was sorry. He didn’t think about the promises or the secrets they’d made. He just focused on the bag and the sting in his knuckles. Hi

Beverley’s hands were shaking so bad she almost dropped the phone. She gripped it tighter, her thumb hovering over the call button. Davion watched her, still trying to catch his breath. He could feel the cold air on his face, but he barely noticed it his brain was still buzzing with everything that had just happened.“Call him again,” he said, his voice low and tense. “We need to know what the hell is going on.”“I’m trying,” Beverley said, her voice cracking. She hit the call button and pressed the phone to her ear. The screen glowed in the darkness, bright and cold. She waited, the seconds stretching out like hours.It rang once. Twice. Three times. Then nothing. Straight to voicemail.“Damn it!” she hissed, pulling the phone away from her ear. She tried again, fingers fumbling. Davion could see the panic in her eyes, the way she was barely holding it together.“Come on, Wesley,” she whispered. “Pick up. Please.”Davion leaned against a tree, his legs still trembling from the sprint

The night was so dark it was like the sky had eaten everything. The cold air scraped against Bev’s skin, making her shiver even though her chest burned from all the running. Her heart was pounding so loud it drowned out everything else—except for Davion’s ragged breathing beside her.He was hurt bad, but he wouldn’t stop. Every time she tried to slow down or make him rest, he’d just shake his head and say, “Not now.” His voice was all rough and scratchy, like he was forcing every word through the pain.They stumbled down this old dirt road that barely counted as a path. The moon kept disappearing behind the clouds, so sometimes she couldn’t even see his face—just his shape, limping but still moving forward like nothing could knock him down. Blood kept dripping from the wound on his side, even though he had his hand pressed there. It left these dark blotches in the snow, a trail for anyone who wanted to find them.Bev hated it. She hated how open and exposed they were out here. Her fin