Brooklyn couldn't concentrate. Not on her assignments, not on Amanda's endless chatter, not even on the comforting hum of the campus café where she usually felt safe. Her eyes kept drifting to Bryant, sitting across from her at the small table, his hood pulled low, the dark bruises peeking out no matter how carefully he tried to hide them.
Every time he shifted, wincing despite himself, her heart clenched tighter.
She finally slammed her pen down. "I can't do this."
Bryant looked up, brow furrowing. "Do what?"
"Pretend everything is normal," she hissed, leaning across the table. "You're sitting there with half your face bruised, and I'm supposed to just take notes on econ?"
His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.
Brooklyn's voice wavered. "We can't ignore this, Bryant. Mani—he crossed a line. He's not just embarrassing me in public anymore. He's hurting you."
Bryant sighed, leaning back. "And what do you suggest we do? March into the dean's office and tell them Mani sent some goons after me? You know he'll deny it. He's got a clean record, charm, connections. Meanwhile, I've got nothing but bruises and a guess."
Brooklyn flinched. He was right. Without proof, it would be their word against Mani's. And Mani had always been careful—calculated, even in his recklessness.
Still, the thought of letting him get away with this made her skin crawl.
"So what, then?" she demanded. "We just sit here and wait for him to try again? Because he will, Bryant. You know he will."
He leaned forward, his eyes dark and steady. "I'm not afraid of him."
Her throat tightened. "Well, I am."
The words came out louder than she intended. Heads turned from nearby tables, but she didn't care. Her chest heaved, tears burning her eyes.
"I'm terrified, Bryant. Every time I walk across campus, I wonder if he's waiting around the corner. Every time I check my phone, I wonder if there'll be another message, another stunt. And now—" Her voice broke. "Now I have to worry about you, too."
Bryant's expression softened. Slowly, carefully, he reached across the table and took her hand.
"You don't have to carry this alone," he said quietly. "I know you feel trapped between us, like every move you make sparks another fire. But you're not alone anymore, Brooklyn. Not as long as I'm here."
Her tears spilled, but she didn't pull away. His hand was warm, steady, grounding her in a way nothing else could.
Amanda, sitting a few tables over pretending to study, shot them a knowing glance but wisely kept her mouth shut.
Brooklyn swallowed hard. "I don't know how to fix this."
"You don't have to fix it," Bryant said. "That's not your job. Mani's the one breaking things, not you." He hesitated, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. "But if you want me to, I'll talk to him."
Her eyes widened. "No. Absolutely not. That's exactly what he wants—to pull you into a fight. If you go to him, it'll get worse."
"Then what do you want me to do?" His voice cracked with frustration. "Sit back and let him keep doing this? Let him keep scaring you, hurting you?"
Brooklyn's chest ached. She knew he was right, but the thought of Bryant confronting Mani filled her with dread.
"Just… promise me you won't go to him alone," she whispered. "If you're going to do anything, tell me first. Please."
Bryant studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. I promise."
The café grew quiet around them, their hands still linked on the table. For the first time since Mani's stunt, Brooklyn felt a sliver of safety—not because the danger was gone, but because Bryant's presence was stronger than the fear.
Still, a shadow lingered in her chest.
Because deep down, she knew promises made under pressure had a way of breaking.
And Mani wasn't the type to let lines in the sand stop him.