Not him.
But fear doesn’t argue with logic.It doesn’t care.
I bury my face in my knees for a moment, breathing through the tightness in my chest.
I shouldn’t be shaking.
I shouldn’t be falling apart.
I should be stronger by now.
But that’s the lie Adrian taught me: that strength only counts if it’s quiet.If no one sees it break.If no one gets burdened by the pieces.
Tonight proved how wrong that was.
Three men saw the cracks.
Three men didn’t leave.
I lift my head and stare at the dim room.
Finn’s voice is still with me.
“You don’t have to white-knuckle it alone.”
“You can shake and I’ll still stand here.”
Atlas, too.
“If someone is putting that look in your eyes...call me.I’ll answer.”
And Kael—
“We are not asking you to be fearless.We’re asking you to be honest.”
Honesty is harder than fear.
Especially when your whole life has been built around pretending fear doesn’t hurt.
I unfold slowly and cross the room to the little shelf where my textbooks sit.I’m supposed to review notes for tomorrow’s clinical rotation.I’m supposed to be studying ankle biomechanics and rehab progressions and concussion protocols.
Instead I stare at the cover until the words blur.
It’s useless.
My mind won’t stay still long enough.
I shut the book and let it fall onto the couch beside me.My fingers itch toward my phone out of habit, but it’s still off, still silent, still mercifully dark.
I should feel free without it blinking at me.
I should feel safe.
But silence is louder now.
Silence is where Adrian used to live.
I press a hand to my chest, right over the spot where my heartbeat feels uneven.
