The wind snaps my coat open and I don’t bother closing it.
Xavier curses under his breath. “We thought speed mattered.”
“It does,” Tristan says. “Just not when it’s the wrong people moving fast.”
That stings.
Because it’s us.
It’s always us.
We’re used to fixing things. Throwing money, influence, connections at problems until they go away. Used to being told we’re helping even when we’re controlling.
“We should’ve handed everything straight to the cops,” I say.
“Yes,” Tristan says flatly. “My lawyers were livid. Next time, they said, you give law enforcement the trail and you step back. You don’t play hero.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Hero.”
Silence stretches.
Then it hits me, hard and cold as the wind.
“She never asked us to do this,” I say.
Neither of them looks at me.
“She didn’t want saving,” Xavier murmurs. “She wanted truth.”
“And we almost ruined that,” Tristan says.
Almost.
I drag a hand down my face, feeling the burn of the cold. “We did it because we couldn’t stand seeing her hurt.”
“I know,” Tristan says. “But intention doesn’t undo damage.”
I look up at the bare branches, at the sky the same dull gray as Jade’s eyes have been lately when she looks through me instead of at me.
“This is what growing up feels like,” I say quietly. “Realizing you don’t get to control outcomes just because you care.”
Xavier nods. “And that sometimes the right thing is knowing when to get out of the way.”
We stand there, three silhouettes against a dying November afternoon, stripped of illusions the same way the trees are stripped of leaves.
Phones stay zipped away.
No one reaches for them.
We don’t fix anything today.
But for the first time, we understand why we shouldn’t have tried.
And somehow, that feels like the first honest step any of us have taken.
Basketball practice that afternoon is a blur of whistles and sweat.
Coach is in a mood, screaming about discipline and defense and how this year is “state or bust.” It’s normally the kind of thing that hypes me up.
