Vincent didn’t let me go. His arms were firm around me, shielding me from the heat and the hum of the city rushing past as he drove. I leaned into him, my legs hollow, the world still dizzying through the car window.

“Breathe,” he said, low and steady. His fingers pressed against my back, small, sure circles. “Tell me what you need.”

I wanted to tell him everything. And nothing. I wanted to tell him about Kelvin’s face, how it haunted me. About Jason’s words, landing not like jabs, but like knives that remembered exactly where to cut. Instead, I let my head fall against his shoulder and stayed silent,...