But I don’t.
I can’t.
So, I stand there, trapped, watching him fracture one strike at a time while the room pretends not to see.
The ache in my chest burns sharper than the knife in my hand.
The fists stop first. Then the noise fades trainers barking low orders, feet scuffing against mats, the world trying to stitch itself back together.
The spell breaks. The storm outside rages, but the one in my chest tears harder.
I force my hands to move. Force my body to act normally. To pretend one look from him didn’t rip me apart.
The knife slips in my slick palm, the weight wrong, the balance off.
I switch hands.
One parry.
One slash.
One breath.
Just like he taught me.
But the tremor in my fingers betrays me. The burn behind my eyes won’t fade.
I bite my lip until blood rises, copper and warm, and stare at the blade as if it might hold the answers.
Don’t let them see you break.
Not here.
I force myself through the motions, one strike, one block, one breath. A puppet wired by nerves instead of strings.
I can’t tell if my body shakes from Matteo’s rage or my family’s poison. Maybe both.
When the drill ends, I’m already moving. I slip out before anyone can stop me.
My feet move without my thought through Blackstone’s corridors, the arches above gaping like a beast waiting to consume me.
Each step lands too loud, a reminder that I don’t belong here.
The shadows stretch, thin and jagged, crawling across the walls like claws. Every breath cuts deeper, threatening to split me open. No matter how many lies I tell myself, I can’t outrun the truth.
I’m already his.
Even if it kills us both.
I don’t remember the walk back.
One moment I’m in the hall, the next the dorm door slams shut behind me, the sound hollow as a gunshot.
I lean against the wood, breath ragged, heart trying to crawl out of my chest. The silence presses in, thick, punishing.
My knees buckle. I slide down until the cold floor bites through my clothes, arms locked tight around myself.
Like a child.
