Brooklyn was already exhausted when she slid into her seat. Whispers still floated around campus like smoke after a fire—her name, Mani's banner, Bryant's defense. She had hoped, foolishly, that things might calm down if she just kept her head down.
But then the classroom door opened.
And everything inside her froze.
Bryant walked in, late, sunglasses covering his eyes though the sun outside had barely risen. His hood was pulled low, his shoulders tense. He moved slower than usual, every step measured.
Brooklyn's stomach dropped. Something was wrong.
Amanda, sitting beside her, leaned in. "Is it me, or does he look like—"
"Shh." Brooklyn was already standing.
"Bryant," she called softly.
He paused, his jaw tightening before he turned toward her. For a moment, their eyes locked, though his were hidden behind the glasses. And in that instant, she knew.
Pain.
She could feel it radiating off him, even if he tried to bury it.
Before the professor arrived, before anyone else could speak, she crossed the room, her heart hammering. She reached for the edge of his sunglasses.
"Brooklyn—" he warned.
But she didn't listen. With a firm tug, she pulled them off.
The gasp that left her lips was louder than she expected.
His right eye was swollen, the skin around it dark and bruised. A cut stretched across his brow, stitched together with butterfly tape. And when her gaze drifted lower, she saw the stiffness in the way he held himself, the careful way he shifted his weight.
He was hurt. Badly.
"Oh my God," she whispered, her hands trembling. "What happened to you?"
The class had gone silent, every pair of eyes glued to them. Bryant clenched his jaw, his voice low. "It's nothing. Drop it."
"Nothing?" Her voice cracked, fury rising with her fear. "This isn't nothing, Bryant! You look like you got jumped!"
The professor's voice cut through the tension. "Miss? Mr. Carter? Is there a problem?"
Brooklyn turned, her voice shaking. "Yes. He needs the nurse. Now."
But Bryant caught her wrist, his grip firm but gentle. "No. Please. Don't make a scene."
Tears blurred her vision. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but the quiet plea in his tone made her chest ache.
Against her better judgment, she sat with him, her hands trembling as she slid his sunglasses back into place. The professor started lecturing, but Brooklyn didn't hear a word. She sat stiffly beside Bryant, her mind racing.
Every bruise. Every cut. It wasn't random. She knew it in her bones.
It was Mani.
As soon as class ended, Brooklyn grabbed Bryant's bag before he could protest and marched him out of the room. Amanda trailed behind, wide-eyed.
In the hallway, she spun on him. "Tell me the truth."
Bryant sighed, leaning against the wall like standing too long hurt. "Brooklyn—"
"No excuses. No lies. Who did this?"
He hesitated. Too long.
Her voice broke. "It was Mani, wasn't it?"
Bryant's silence was answer enough.
Brooklyn's vision blurred with rage. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, trembling. "I told him no. I told him to stop. And this is how he answers? By hurting you?"
Bryant reached for her, but she pulled back, pacing, her breath ragged. "This is my fault. If I hadn't—if I wasn't—"
"Don't." His voice was sharp, enough to stop her mid-sentence. His eyes, bruised but steady, burned into hers. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this. Mani made his choice. He's the one crossing lines, not you."
Brooklyn's throat tightened. "But if it weren't for me—"
"Then it would've been something else," Bryant said firmly. "He's obsessed, Brooklyn. That's not on you. It's on him."
Her tears spilled freely now, and before she could stop herself, she reached for him. Her arms wrapped around his waist carefully, mindful of his ribs. He winced but didn't pull away, his chin resting lightly on her hair.
For a long moment, they just stood there, her shaking, him holding her despite the pain.
"Promise me you'll be careful," she whispered.
"I always am," he murmured, though the lie was obvious in his tone.
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "No, Bryant. Promise me you won't fight him back. That's what he wants. To drag you into his game."
Bryant's jaw worked, torn between truth and the need to reassure her. Finally, he nodded. "I promise."
Brooklyn searched his face, seeing the battle in his eyes. She knew he was lying. She knew he couldn't just stand by if Mani kept pushing.
But for now, she let herself believe him.
Because the alternative—the thought of losing Bryant to Mani's madness—was too much to bear.