ALINA’S POV

The streets of Southside clung to me long after we left them, like smoke caught in my hair, like neon burned into the backs of my eyelids. Even now, back in the apartment, I could still feel the press of Barry’s gaze—the way he’d spoken my name like it was a secret he owned, not a person who breathed on her own terms.

I sat on the edge of the couch, fingers tangled in the fabric of my jeans, replaying every second of that encounter. The look in his eyes when I told him I wouldn’t crawl back. The way his smile had cracked, sharp and brittle, like...