Ethan saw the blood before he saw her face.

It was a thin streak along Alyssa’s temple, dark against her pale skin, already drying but unmistakable. She stood near the curb outside the building, phone still clenched in her hand, posture rigid as if her body hadn’t yet accepted what had happened.

“Alyssa.”

His voice cut through the night sharper than he intended.

She turned. For half a second, her expression faltered—just enough for him to see it. Then the mask snapped back into place.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly.

Ethan crossed the distance in long strides. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.”

He reached for her without thinking, fingers lifting toward...