Page 130 of No Good Fight

Mom is already inside before I get out of the truck because Josh still has Ryder’s emergency key, which is going on my list of future problems.

When I stumble into the house, I smell soup that’s cooking on the stove. Dad sits at the dining table with a highlighter and my discharge papers already. Josh stands near the back door, checking the lock like fear has made him fluent in speaking Ryder’s silent language. Nia sits on the counter eating crackers from the sleeve, then points one at me when Ryder helps me through the doorway.

“You look terrible,” she says, but her mouth trembles before she hides it behind another cracker. “I know you have pajamas to change into. You should do that before you bring down the mood.”

“I almost died.” My voice comes out rough enough to make everyone flinch, but I know Nia’s trying to make me feel better, so I keep going. “Your standards are cruel.”

Mom moves toward me, stops herself from grabbing, and opens the blanket in her hands instead. I step into it because I can, because I’m alive, because my mother looks like she might crack if I make her keep standing there with all that love and nowhere to put it. Dad kisses the top of my head. Josh hovers too close until Nia reaches out from the counter and hooks two fingers in the back of his shirt, holding him in place without looking away from me.

Ryder stays at my side through all of it, still carrying the plastic bag with my ruined clothes like putting it down would make the fire real again. The house smells like soup, coffee, rain, and him. It should feel safe. Mostly, it feels full. Full of people, full of worry, full of the life I thought I saw right before smoke stole the chance to tell Ryder I love him.

They put me on the couch with enough pillows to discourage movement after I get changed into a pair of sweats and Ryder’s hoodie that is now mine. Mom checks my temperature even though fever isn’t the current concern.

Dad starts reading discharge symptoms aloud until I lift one pillow with clear intent and absolutely no strength. Nia hands me crackers one at a time like she’s feeding an injured raccoon. Josh pretends not to watch every breath I take. Ryder kneels by the coffee table, and plugs my phone into the charger there.

The screen wakes slowly, stacking missed messages over one another while everyone else argues in low voices about soup, medication timing, and whether I’m allowed to have coffee if I want it.

I stare at the notifications.

Marcy. Mom. Unknown numbers. A voicemail from Remy. Three missed calls from a number I don’t know.

Then a new text appears from an unknown number, and the photo loads before I understand what I’m looking at.

Mrs. Vance is tied to a chair in a room I don’t recognize. Her lemon scarf is gone. Her bandaged hand is strapped to the armrest, and her cane lies on the floor beside her, snapped cleanly in half.

Pain cracks behind my eyes when I sit up, but I barely feel it over the cold opening in my chest. Ryder’s hand closes over the edge of the coffee table. Josh moves from the back door. Mom says my name, and all of them blur at the edges while I stare at the photo of the woman who saved me twice.

The next message comes in beneath it.

Unknown: She should have stayed out of it.

My fingers tighten around the phone.

Unknown: Come alone.

The room starts moving around me now, but none of it reaches where I am. Ryder is saying something. Josh is closer. Nia is off the counter. Dad is reaching for Mom before she can get to me too fast.

Unknown: No Ryder. No police. No brother.

The final message takes longer to load, and in that tiny delay, I know. I know before the words appear. I know what Preston wants because he has always wanted the same thing. To prove that my love hurts people. To make me choose isolation and call it mercy.

Unknown: Trade yourself for her, Alexandra. Or I finish teaching her what happens when someone touches what’s mine.

For a second, all I can see is Mrs. Vance’s broken cane and the bandage on the hand she burned surviving a fire Preston set because of me. She helped me. She believed me. She made my fear into something I could hold, and Preston took her for it.

Ryder reaches for the phone, but I pull it closer before he can take it. His hand stops in midair. Even now, even with his face going empty in that terrifying way, he stops himself because I don’t let go.

“No.” I manage to say. “Just a lot I missed. I need rest.”

The house is full of people who love me. The locks are new. The cameras are pointed exactly where we told them to point. The lights are bright enough to turn the yard into daylight.

None of it reaches Mrs. Vance.

Preston is holding her somewhere outside all of that careful protection, waiting for me to choose.

Unknown: You have 24 hours until she dies.

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