I keep my head down, walking fast, jaw clenched. Microphones shove toward me, flashes bursting white behind my eyelids. Every instinct screams to bark back, to tell them exactly what I think—but Claire’s words anchor me:Be smarter.
Then I hear a voice that cuts through the chaos.
“Leo!”
Anya. Not as a reporter this time, just… Anya. No camera crew, no recorder in hand. She steps in front of me, forcing me to stop.
“The article was garbage,” she says quietly, eyes searching mine. “You know that, right?”
I nod once, the tension in my chest easing by a fraction. “Yeah. I know.”
She hesitates. “You don’t have to say anything, but… you should know some of us still see the truth.”
I want to thank her. I don’t. I just give her a small nod before brushing past, my voice low. “Appreciate it.”
By the time I make it to my truck, my pulse is hammering again. The cameras keep flashing in the rearview mirror until I hit the street.
And for the first time, I don’t feel relief when they disappear. I just feel empty.
The apartment is dark when I step inside, the kind of dark that feels deliberate. Sage’s pacing in front of the window, the city’s glow cutting sharp lines across her face. Her phone’s on the counter, screen lighting up with notifications she’s ignoring.
When she sees me, she stops. “How bad was it?”
I drop my keys into the bowl by the door. “Bad enough.”
Her voice softens. “They’re blaming you, aren’t they?”
“They always do.” I run a hand over my face, trying to scrub the day off my skin. “Suspension’s on the table. Best case, fine and PR rehab.”
Her lips part, the guilt written all over her. “They’re coming after you because of me.”
I step closer, shaking my head. “No. They’re coming after me because ofhim.Because he knows how to get under my skin.”
Her eyes flicker up to mine. “Grayson.” The name tastes bitter in her mouth. “He’s not going to stop, is he?”
“No.” I reach for her, my hands finding her face, thumbs brushing the edge of her jaw. “But neither am I.”
Her breath catches. “Leo…”
“I mean it,” I say, my voice low, rough around the edges. “You’re the only thing keeping me from losing it completely. You’re the only part of this that still makes sense.”
Her eyes glisten in the dim light, but she doesn’t look away. “You can’t fight him every time he swings.”
I shake my head. “If I don’t, he wins.”
“Not everything’s a fight,” she whispers, but the tremor in her voice betrays her own fear.
“Maybe not for you,” I say, brushing my thumb down her cheek. “But for me, it always has been.”
For a second, the air between us feels like it did that first night—charged, impossible. She leans into my touch but doesn’t speak. I can feel her heart racing beneath my fingertips.
Then my phone buzzes.
The vibration cuts through the quiet. I glance down, already expecting another headline or message from Claire. But it’s an unknown number.
One line.
You should’ve stayed in your lane, Voss. See you Saturday.
