We found Micah two towns over.
Jesse didn't knock.
He just walked into the old warehouse-turned-club like he belonged.
Like it hadn't been the place where he first learned control could cut.
The lights were dim.
The walls smelled like sweat, leather, and something older—regret, maybe.
Micah stood behind the bar, drying a glass.
When he saw Jesse, he smiled.
Not surprised.
Not nervous.
Just... prepared.
"Well. Look who remembered where the bodies are buried."
---
Jesse didn't return the smile.
"You did it."
Micah didn't flinch. "Define 'it.'"
Jesse stepped forward, slow.
Voice quiet.
"You set the fire. You left that word on my wall."
"Liar?" Micah mused. "Not inaccurate."
Kade moved beside Jesse, tense.
But Jesse raised a hand to stop him.
This was his fire to walk through.
---
Micah set the glass down.
"You said you'd stay. You said I was safe with you. Then one bad night—one blackout—and you ran."
"I was twenty-two," Jesse said. "I didn't know how to love anyone. Especially not you."
Micah stepped closer. His eyes glinted under the red light.
"I didn't want love. I wanted a keeper."
"You wanted a weapon."
Micah shrugged. "Same thing."
---
The room thickened with silence.
Then Jesse said—
"You hurt me. You made me believe pain was the only way to be needed."
"And now you're angry because someone else needs you without bleeding for it?"
Jesse's fists clenched.
I stepped forward.
"He's not angry. He's healing."
Micah's eyes flicked to me.
"And you're the replacement?"
"No," Jesse said firmly. "He's the reason I don't need one."
---
Micah looked away.
And for the first time… he looked small.
Deflated.
Almost broken.
"Get out," he said softly.
Jesse didn't argue.
Just turned.
And walked away with my hand in his.
---
Back in the truck, he didn't start the engine right away.
Just sat there, gripping the steering wheel like it might anchor him.
"I thought seeing him would make it easier," he murmured. "Like closure."
"Did it?"
"No."
He looked at me.
"But holding your hand while I walked out did."
---
That night, we didn't speak much.
We just curled into each other under a blanket that still smelled like smoke.
And as he fell asleep beside me, hand on my chest, collar warm against his skin, I knew:
Micah may have burned the past.
But Jesse?
He was finally choosing the future.