The week after the storm dragged by like a nightmare. Sophie felt every tick of the clock in her bones, every hallway whisper a blade against her spine. The school had turned into a theater where everyone watched Marcus, waiting for the next eruption.
Marcus moved through it like a storm contained in human skin. Silent. Tense. His jaw locked, his fists always half-curled. He barely spoke to anyone but Sophie, and even then, his words were sharp, clipped, as though his voice was a weapon he didn't trust himself to use.
At lunch, Sophie sat with him, her hand resting lightly on his knee beneath the table. "You don't have to prove anything to them," she whispered.
His eyes flicked around the cafeteria. "They're waiting for me to slip. One wrong move, and I become exactly what he says I am."
"You're not him," Sophie said, fiercer than she felt.
Marcus's lips twisted in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Sometimes I wonder if you believe that more than I do."
The words hollowed her chest. She squeezed his knee, desperate. "Then believe me until you can believe yourself."
He stared at her for a long moment, then looked away.
That night, Sophie dreamed of fire. Marcus stood in the middle of the flames, his face twisted, his fists red with blood. Ethan's voice echoed through the inferno: This is who he is. This is who he will always be.
She woke screaming, sweat slick on her skin, only to find Marcus already in her room, sitting at her desk with his head in his hands.
"You're having nightmares too?" she whispered, her throat raw.
He looked up, eyes rimmed with red. "I don't sleep anymore."
Her heart cracked. She crossed the room and knelt before him, her hands covering his. "You can't keep going like this."
His laugh was hollow, bitter. "What's the alternative? Let him win? Let him crawl into my head and set up camp?"
Sophie shook her head. "No. The alternative is letting me in. You don't have to fight him alone."
Marcus's gaze softened, just for a moment. He reached out, brushing his fingers down her cheek. "You're too good for me, Sophie. Too good to be dragged into my hell."
Her tears burned. "Then let me burn with you."
He kissed her then, rough and desperate, like a drowning man clawing for air. Sophie clung to him, pouring every ounce of strength she had into the kiss, into the silent promise that she wouldn't let him go.
But even as his lips pressed to hers, even as his hands shook against her skin, Sophie could feel it: the fracture widening, the shadow growing.
And she knew Ethan was still watching.
The next day, Sophie couldn't focus in class. Every time she looked at Marcus, she saw the exhaustion under his skin, the way his eyes darted as though he was listening to a voice no one else could hear. The fracture wasn't just inside him anymore—it was spreading, visible to anyone who dared to look closely.
Between periods, she slipped him a note folded into quarters. Meet me after school. Library. Just us.
When the final bell rang, they slipped into the old library annex where no one ever went. Dust hung thick in the air, and the faint hum of the heating system filled the silence. Sophie set her notebook on the table, opening to a blank page.
"Talk to me," she begged.
Marcus leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes shadowed. "About what? That I want to break him in half? That sometimes I dream about killing him and it feels good? You want me to bleed that onto your paper?"
Sophie's throat tightened. She scribbled quickly across the page. I don't care how dark it is. I can hold it. But don't hold it alone.
Marcus's eyes flicked to the page, then to her. Slowly, he crossed the room and sat across from her. His hands shook as he pressed them flat against the table.
"I can't stop thinking about his words," he whispered. "When he said I was his mirror. It's like—what if he's right? What if all I am is a reflection of him, and no matter what I do, I'll end up like him?"
Sophie reached across the table, covering his hands with hers. "You're not his reflection. You're mine. And I see someone worth fighting for."
His jaw tightened, his eyes glistening. "You don't know how close I was last night. If you hadn't stopped me, I would've kept going. I would've—" His voice cracked. He buried his face in his hands. "God, Sophie. What if next time, I can't stop?"
Tears burned her eyes. She stood, rounding the table, and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Then I'll stop you. Every time. I'll throw myself between you and him if I have to."
He turned, grabbing her, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. "Don't you dare. If he hurts you—if I hurt you—" His voice broke into a growl. "I wouldn't survive it."
She pressed her face into his shoulder, her tears soaking his shirt. "Then don't fight for yourself. Fight for me. For us."
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, two broken pieces clinging together in the dust and silence.
But when they finally left, Sophie caught a glimpse of something that froze her blood.
A shadow, lingering in the doorway just beyond the annex. Ethan. His grin stretched wide, his eyes glittering with triumph.
Marcus didn't see him. Sophie shoved her notebook into her bag and grabbed Marcus's hand, pulling him quickly into the hall.
"Come on," she said, her voice trembling.
But all the way home, she could feel Ethan's eyes on her, like hooks sinking deeper into her skin.
That night, Marcus didn't come to her window. Sophie sat awake in the dark, her notebook open, her pen trembling. She wrote until her hands cramped, every word a desperate shield against the shadow.
He is mine. Not yours. I will not lose him. Even if I have to bleed myself dry, I will not lose him.
The silence pressed in, heavy, suffocating. She stared at the words until the ink blurred with her tears.
And somewhere in the distance, Ethan's laughter echoed through the night.