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She didn’t even wonder why I didn’t go to church anymore.

As if I could sit in those pews and pray to a God who’d let me survive when Bryce hadn’t. As if I could listen to sermons about forgiveness when I knew—knew—that some sins were too big to be forgiven. My parents had made that all too clear in the brief time I’d been home.

I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t forgive me for the role I played in Bryce’s death.

Five years.

Five goddamn years I’d stayed away, trying to give them space, trying to let them heal without having to look at the daughter who’d destroyed everything. And when I finally came back—when Jordan practically dragged me back, the little weasel—they couldn’t even pretend to want me there.

The worst part? I wasn’t even surprised. I’d known this was how it would be. I’d told myself a thousand times that coming home would be a mistake, that my parents would never be able to look at me without seeing Bryce’s ghost standing in my place.

But some stupid, masochistic part of me had hoped.

God, I was such an idiot.

The suburban streets gradually gave way to a small shopping district I’d spent more time at than I could count in my youth. Boutiques lined the sidewalk, their windows decorated with twinkling lights and holiday displays.

I should have paid more attention to where I was going and been more careful about which streets I turned down, which memories I was walking toward.

But I wasn’t thinking. I was just feeling—all that rage and hurt churning inside me like a storm, driving me forward without direction or purpose.

So when I finally stopped, when my feet planted themselves on the sidewalk and refused to move another inch, it took me a moment to understand why.

The coffee shop sat on the corner, its familiar green awning faded but still cheerful. The Daily Grind. The name was painted in curling white letters on the window, surrounded by hand-drawn coffee cups and steam swirls. A chalkboard sign on the sidewalk announced the day’s specials in colorful writing.

It looked exactly the same as it had five years ago.

The anger drained out of me so fast it left me dizzy. One second I was burning with fury, and the next I was hollow, empty, my rage pooling somewhere around my feet and evaporating into nothing.

Because this was Bryce’s place.

He used to drag me here every Saturday morning, back when we were both in high school and he was dating Mira Solis, who was a barista here. He’d order the same thing every time—a caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream—and he’d sit at the corner table by the window, pretending to study while really just watching Mira work.

“She’s going to think you’re a stalker,” I’d told him once, rolling my eyes over my hot chocolate.

“I’m devoted,” he’d corrected, grinning that stupid, infectious grin of his. “There’s a difference, Sammy.”

He’d been so sure she was the one, and even talked about marrying her someday. They had their whole lives planned out. They’d only been nineteen when he died, but I knew he’d bought a ring for her. He’d told me when you know, you know, and he didn’t care if people thought he was too young. Life was too short not to love with your whole heart.

My eyes burned at the memory and my throat closed up. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stand there on the sidewalk and stare at the coffee shop where my dead brother used to dream about his future.

Why had I come here? Why had my stupid, traitorous body led me to this exact spot when there were a thousand other places in Seattle I could have walked to? Some sick part of my subconscious must have wanted this—wanted the punishment, the reminder, the knife twisting in the wound.

The memories were everywhere now, rushing in like water through a broken dam. Bryce’s laugh. His terrible jokes. The way he used to ruffle my hair and call me Ladybug. The proud look on his face when I landed my first triple lutz. The sound of his voice the last time I ever heard it⁠—

A sob tore out of my throat before I could stop it.

Harry’s hand closed around mine. I barely registered the touch before he was pulling me sideways, away from the main street, into a narrow alley between two buildings where no one would see us.

My back hit brick and then Harry stepped into my space, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world. The alley smelled like dirt and distant coffee, and the brick was rough against my jacket, grounding me in something real when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

“Sam.” His voice was low and calm. “Look at me.”

I couldn’t. My vision was blurry with tears, my chest heaving with shallow breaths. The panic was rising now, that familiar black wave that threatened to drag me under.

“Sam.” His hands cupped my face, tilting it up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes. Those gray eyes that always seemed to see too much. “Breathe with me.”

Just like on the plane. Just like he’d done when the panic had first started to claw its way up my throat and I’d been too stubborn to admit I was drowning.