Kianna's POV
The morning light seeped through the blinds like an unwelcome intruder, casting thin stripes across my rumpled sheets.
I woke up with a start, my heart racing as if I'd been running in my dreams. But it wasn't a dream that had me bolting upright—it was the weight of last night pressing down on me like a lead blanket.
Lysander's face haunted me, his once-gentle eyes now cold and accusing on that rooftop with cigarette smoke curling around him like a shroud.
The boy who'd sketched me with such care, who'd taken a bullet for me without hesitation, reduced to this—bullying some poor freshman girl just for looking at him too long.
It didn't make sense. Lysander hated bullies; he'd told me stories of how he'd been tormented in middle school for being the "artsy kid."
And now he was one of them? The change was too sudden, too complete. And Maddox's words kept echoing in my mind too, "People break, Kianna. Heartbreak breaks them ugly."
