Sophie couldn't shake the image of Ethan beneath the streetlamp. Even in the morning light, his presence clung to her skin like smoke. She kept seeing him when she blinked—standing there, still and patient, as if the night itself had given him shape. She told herself it had to be her imagination, a trick of exhaustion, but deep down she knew better. He was there. Watching. Waiting.
Marcus hadn't woken when she left for school. His face was bruised, his breaths uneven, his body curled into a tight knot as if trying to hold itself together. Sophie kissed his temple before slipping out, whispering words he wouldn't hear. Don't break without me. Please.
At school, the whispers felt sharper than ever. Heads turned when she entered the hall. The stares weren't just curious anymore—they were hungry, like vultures circling above. She ignored them, walking with her notebook clutched tightly to her chest, but every word reached her.
He's dangerous.She's crazy for staying with him.One day, he's going to snap and she'll be the first he hurts.
Her stomach twisted, her fists tightening. She wanted to scream at them, to tell them they didn't know Marcus the way she did. But their voices burrowed deep, planting seeds she didn't want to acknowledge.
In math class, Ethan sat two rows behind her. She felt his gaze burning into the back of her neck the entire period. Every time she shifted in her seat, every time she reached for her pencil, she knew he was watching. When the bell rang, she tried to slip out quickly, but his hand brushed her arm as she passed.
"Careful," he murmured. "The fire you're holding onto might just turn on you."
She yanked her arm away, her chest heaving, but when she turned he was already walking in the opposite direction, his smirk etched across his face.
Sophie skipped lunch. She sat alone in the library, scribbling into her notebook with shaking hands. The words came jagged, messy.
They don't see him. They don't know. He is more than his fists. More than his fire. He is mine, and I will not let them take him from me. Not Ethan. Not the whispers. No one.
Her hand cramped, the ink smearing across the page, but she kept writing until her tears blurred the letters. Only when the bell rang for the next class did she shove the notebook into her bag, wiping her face with her sleeve.
That night, she waited by the window again. Hours passed. Midnight. One. Two. Still no Marcus. Panic gnawed at her stomach. She wanted to call him, but he didn't have a phone anymore—he'd smashed it weeks ago after Ethan sent him a text Sophie never saw.
By three, exhaustion dragged her under. She dreamed of fire again—Marcus standing in flames, his hands dripping with blood, Ethan's laughter echoing through the smoke. She tried to run to him, but the fire devoured the ground beneath her feet.
When she woke, Marcus was finally there.
He was sitting on the floor by her bed, his head resting against the mattress, his eyes half-closed. His clothes were torn, his hands raw, his lip split. Sophie's heart lurched. She slid off the bed, kneeling beside him, cradling his face in her hands.
"Marcus," she whispered.
His eyes fluttered open. "Didn't want to wake you."
"What happened?" Her voice trembled.
He shook his head, his jaw tight. "Doesn't matter."
"It does matter," she insisted, her tears threatening. "You can't keep doing this to yourself."
His eyes burned into hers, wild and hollow. "What choice do I have? If I don't fight back, I'm nothing. If I let them corner me, if I let Ethan breathe down my neck without answering, then I'm already dead."
Sophie's hands trembled against his skin. "And if fighting makes you exactly what he says you are?"
Marcus flinched, his breath ragged. His hands reached up, clutching hers with a desperate strength. "Then hold onto me harder. Don't let me go. Even if I become everything he wants, don't let me be his. Please."
Her chest broke. She pulled him into her arms, holding him so tightly she thought she might fuse him to her bones. "Never," she whispered fiercely. "You are mine. Even if the world turns to ash, you are mine."
He buried his face in her neck, trembling. Sophie felt the heat of his tears soak into her skin.
They lay together on the floor, the storm outside rattling the windows, the night thick with silence. Sophie stroked his hair until his breathing slowed, until his body sagged against hers with exhaustion. She pressed her lips to his temple, her heart pounding with both fear and love.
But even as she held him, her eyes flicked toward the window. The streetlamp outside flickered once. Twice. Then steadied.
She swore she saw a shadow move beneath it.
Her chest tightened, but she didn't wake Marcus. Instead, she clung to him tighter, whispering his name into the dark.
Marcus didn't come to school the next day. Sophie sat through classes with her notebook open, pretending to write, but her eyes kept drifting to the empty chair in the back of the room. The silence of his absence was louder than any whisper. Students didn't even bother lowering their voices anymore.
He's probably expelled already.He'll end up in prison.She'll follow him there—if she survives him first.
Sophie's fists clenched around her pen. She wanted to scream at them, to tell them they were wrong, but what terrified her was that a tiny part of her wondered if they were right.
During lunch, she slipped out of the cafeteria, searching the grounds. She found him behind the gym, sitting against the brick wall, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. Smoke curled around his face, his hood shadowing his bruises.
"Marcus," she breathed, relief flooding her.
He looked up, his eyes hollow but blazing. "Sophie."
She dropped to her knees beside him, snatching the cigarette from his hand. "Since when do you smoke?"
He shrugged, his voice rough. "Since last night. Needed something to quiet the noise."
Her heart ached. "And did it?"
He gave a bitter laugh. "No."
She tossed the cigarette aside, grabbing his hand. "Then let me be the noise. Let me drown it out."
His fingers tightened around hers, trembling. For a moment, his facade cracked, his jaw trembling, his eyes glassy. "I don't know how much longer I can do this, Sophie. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Ethan. Smiling. Waiting. I can feel his shadow in my blood."
Her throat closed. "Then fight it with me. Not with your fists—with me. With us."
His gaze softened, his lips parting as though to speak, but footsteps echoed nearby. Sophie turned just as Ethan rounded the corner.
He froze when he saw them, then smiled. "How sweet."
Marcus shot to his feet instantly, fists clenched, his whole body coiled like a spring. Sophie leapt up, clutching his arm. "Don't," she hissed.
Ethan's eyes gleamed, amused. "Listen to her, Marcus. She knows what I already do—you're one step away from proving me right."
"Shut up," Marcus snarled.
Ethan stepped closer, his voice low, taunting. "You think she can save you? Look at you. Bruised. Broken. Shaking. You belong to me, whether you admit it or not. Because every time you dream of blood, every time your fists ache to break bones, that's me inside you. That's my victory."
Marcus lunged, but Sophie wrapped both arms around him, holding him back with everything she had. "Marcus! No!"
He trembled violently, his teeth gritted, his breath coming in ragged bursts. For a terrifying moment, she thought he'd tear free, that nothing could stop him. But slowly—agonizingly slowly—his muscles loosened under her grip. His chest heaved as he stared at Ethan with murder in his eyes.
Ethan smirked, unbothered. "Tick, tick," he whispered. "You're running out of time."
Then he walked away, his laughter echoing against the bricks.
Marcus collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the ground. His hands shook uncontrollably. Sophie knelt beside him, tears streaking her cheeks, pressing her palms to his. "I've got you," she whispered. "He doesn't own you. He never will."
Marcus buried his face against her shoulder, his voice breaking. "Then don't ever let go."
That night, Marcus came to her window again. He climbed in silently, collapsing onto her bed, exhaustion dragging at every line of his body. Sophie sat beside him, brushing her fingers gently through his hair.
"I can't lose you," she whispered.
"You won't," he muttered, his eyes closing. "Not unless I lose myself first."
Her chest ached as she pressed a kiss to his temple. She picked up her notebook, writing by the faint glow of her lamp, her hand shaking.
He is not yours, Ethan. He never will be. Even if he breaks, even if the fire devours him, I will walk into the flames. I will not let you have him. I will not surrender him to the shadows.
The words blurred as tears filled her eyes. She closed the notebook, curling against Marcus's sleeping body. Outside, the rain poured harder, drumming against the glass.
Through the blur of water on the window, Sophie saw it again—the faint outline of a figure beneath the streetlamp, perfectly still.
Ethan.
He wasn't smiling this time. He was just watching.
Her blood ran cold, her arms tightening around Marcus as though she could shield him even in his sleep. But the truth pressed in around her, heavier than the rain, sharper than the whispers.
The fractures were deepening.
And she knew, sooner or later, something would break.