Luke stepped forward again, jaw locked, ready to finish it.
Theo and Jax stormed in behind him, grabbing Luke’s shoulders before he could land a final blow.
“Luke—he’s done,” Theo snapped, locking an arm across his chest.
“Enough!” Jax barked.
Logan staggered upright, his face mottled, lip split, blood bright against his teeth. His right eye locked on to me over Theo’s arm. His left was swollen shut. There was no apology or regret in that sharp gaze.
Teachers appeared at the far end of the hall seconds later—drawn by the crash. Mr. Carter first then Coach Ramirez from the gym wing.
“What happened?”
No one answered immediately, and I forced myself to stand.
Luke’s chest rose and fell hard, but his eyes never left Logan.
Principal Miller arrived minutes later, breath tight, expression already assessing damage control.
He took in the torn fabric at my shoulder. The blood on Logan’s lip and his swollen face. Luke’s red knuckles. “This will be handled internally,” he announced, voice clipped.
No police. No public spectacle. Two campus security officers escorted Logan toward the administrative wing. He didn’t fight it.
As he passed me, his shoulder brushed mine deliberately.
“This isn’t over,” he muttered.
It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.
“Mila.” Principal Miller’s voice gentled. “Do you need medical assistance?”
I shook my head. “No.” I hated the attention. The faster this was over, the better I’d feel.
“Everyone—to my office. Jax, Chase, Theo—you’re dismissed.” Principal Miller led the way. Logan was escorted by security and the teachers who’d witnessed the fight. Luke and I followed. Behind us, the guys grumbled about being left out.
Logan was separated from the rest of us. We sat in chairs lining the wall in the reception area, Miller’s office door open as he called Logan’s dad, my mom, and Luke’s parents.
The adrenaline that had carried me through the fight started to bleed out of my system. In its place came a hypersensitive awareness of everything—my torn shirt, the sting across my cheek, the ache in my ribs where Logan had shoved me into the lockers. I shifted in my seat, suddenly hyperaware of the attention lingering on me from the staff moving in and out of the office.
Luke shifted slightly in front of me, not enough to draw attention, but enough that anyone looking had to go through him first. He pulled his sweatshirt over his head and handed it to me, his eyes never leaving my face as if he was tracking more than what I showed.
“Put this on.”
I took it without argument. The fabric was warm from his body, the faint scent of him grounding me in a way nothing else had. I slipped it over my head, tugging it down to cover the tear at my shoulder.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I told him quietly.
His eyes searched my face for a second, checking for something I could not name. “Want me to come with?”
“No.” I squared my shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be here.”
I moved down the hall, my steps steady even though my body still felt keyed up from the fight. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I pushed through the bathroom door and locked it behind me.
I braced my hands on the edge of the sink and looked at myself in the mirror.
My hair was a mess, strands sticking to my face. A faint smear of blood traced along my jaw, and there was already bruising forming beneath my cheekbone. My eyes looked too bright, like my body hadn’t caught up to the fact that it was over.
