The stairwell felt colder.
Not temperature. Something in the air had shifted. Jade stood near the doorway, heart racing, watching Blake. He hadn't moved. Hands still gripped the railing like the only thing keeping him upright.
"You shouldn't have seen that," he muttered.
She stepped closer. "What is happening to you?"
Quiet, hollow breath. "You really want to know?"
She nodded.
Slowly, he looked at her. The second their eyes met—something in her chest tightened. He didn't look like himself. Not fully.
Something darker sat behind his expression. Something he was trying—and failing—to hold back.
"It started after the accident," he said quietly. Her stomach twisted. "The night everything fell apart."
He dragged a hand through his hair. "I got the message… and I still went to the park."
Her breath caught. The oak tree. The swing set. The place that used to be theirs.
"I waited." Steady voice, unsteady feeling. "Kept thinking you'd show up." Jaw tightening. "But you didn't."
She opened her mouth—
He didn't let her speak. "That's when it changed. The anger." Fingers whitening on the railing. "Not normal anger." Pause. "Something worse."
She felt it then. Not just hearing—feeling what he meant.
"I thought you destroyed everything," he said. "So I stopped trying to be… anything better." Voice dropping. "And after that…" Slow exhale. "It got louder. "
She frowned slightly. "What did?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then—"My thoughts." Sharp. "Not like before." Tapped his temple once. "Different."
Her chest tightened. "What do they say?"
Expression hardening. "That everyone leaves." Pause. "That everyone lies." Eyes flicking to hers. "And that the only way to not get hurt…" Another pause. "Is to hurt them first."
She shook her head slightly. "That's not you."
Short laugh. "You don't know that anymore." Breathing shifting. Faster. Uneven.
She noticed immediately. "Blake—"
He stepped back suddenly, hand through hair. "No." Voice tightening. "Not now." Fingers curling into fists. Holding something back. Something pushing to surface.
'She lied.'
The words slipped out under his breath.
She stilled.
His head snapped up. "No. " Hands pressing against temples. "Stop. " Breathing breaking.
'She'll do it again.'
Her heart pounded. "Blake."
"Stop! " The word echoed through the stairwell. Then silence. Heavy. Sharp.
He leaned forward, breathing hard. "You shouldn't be here."
She didn't move. "I'm not leaving."
He looked at her. Really looked.
And for a second—something shifted.
Not anger. Not distance. Fear.
"You don't understand," he said quietly. Voice cracking slightly. "If you stay…" Hands trembling. "I might not be able to stop myself."
The words hung. Real. Terrifying.
Her chest tightened. Fear flickered—quick, sharp—but she didn't step back. Instead, she moved closer. One step. Then another. "Blake," she whispered.
Her voice cut through the noise in his head. Not completely—enough. His breathing slowed slightly. Just enough to steady himself.
For now.
The tension didn't disappear. It paused. Something waiting beneath the surface. Watching.
She felt it. Not visible—sensible. This wasn't anger. Wasn't pain. Whatever grew inside him had been growing for years.
And if he ever stopped fighting it…
She swallowed. Because she knew—without him saying—it wouldn't just hurt him.