Jade didn't wait long.
The moment the door slammed behind Blake, something tightened in her chest. Not just worry. Instinct. Something was wrong. Not his usual anger. Not the version she was starting to understand again. This was different. Darker.
And she'd seen it in his eyes.
"Miss?" Quietly.
The teacher glanced over. "Yes, Jade?"
"I need some air."
Pause. Then a sigh. "Five minutes."
She didn't wait.
Slipped into the hallway. Quiet. Too quiet.
Classroom noise faded behind her as the door clicked shut. She looked down the corridor. Nothing.
Then—a sound. Faint. Echoing. The stairwell. She moved toward it slowly. Door slightly open. Someone inside.
Blake.
He stood near the railing, back to the door. Hands gripping metal—too tightly. She opened her mouth to call his name—
Then stopped.
"I said stop."
His voice was wrong. Lower. Rougher. Forced through clenched teeth. She froze. No phone. No one else. His breathing grew uneven.
"You don't get to decide that."
Words echoed off concrete. She stepped closer—careful, silent.
"No." Sharpening suddenly. "I'm not hurting her. "
Jade's stomach twisted. Hurting her?
He dragged a hand through his hair. "You think I don't know that?"
Silence. But his expression didn't relax. It changed. Darker. Like something inside was arguing back.
'She betrayed you.'
Jade's breath caught.
Blake's head snapped up. "No." Sharp. Violent.
His fist slammed the railing. Metal rang through the stairwell.
"You're wrong." Breathing heavier. Faster.
Then—quieter—
'She'll hurt you again.'
He shut his eyes tightly. "Shut up."
Strained. Like forcing the thought out of his own head.
Silence.
He leaned forward, breathing hard. Then, quieter—"You don't control me."
Jade's hand tightened against the doorframe. She shouldn't be here.
Couldn't leave.
He lifted his head. Saw her. Everything stopped.
"Jade."
Her voice barely worked. "I didn't mean to—"
He stepped toward her. Not angry. Worried. "What did you hear?"
She swallowed. "Enough."
He looked away immediately. Hand through hair. "You shouldn't have followed me."
She stepped inside. Slowly. "What's happening to you?"
No answer. Just staring at the floor.
"Blake." Softer. "You were talking to someone."
Quiet laugh. Hollow. "No." Looking back at her. "I was arguing."
She frowned. "With who?"
He held her gaze. Eyes darkening slightly. "That's the problem." Pause. "There isn't anyone there."
The way he said it—calm, certain, tired —made something cold settle in her chest.
Because it didn't sound new.
It sounded like something he'd been fighting.
For a long time.