Reagan stared down at her raw, bruised knuckles. At the cracks between her fingers where the tape had bitten too deep. She wanted to say nothing. She wanted to bury it like she always did. But the image from the phone — the blood, the bruises, the lifeless way her body had lain there — burned behind her eyelids every time she blinked.

Her voice was hoarse when it finally broke the silence.

"It started when I was sixteen." Skylar didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. Just listened.

Reagan dragged the words out like pulling barbed wire from her throat. "I thought he loved me. Travis. He made me believe it... until he didn’t have to pretend anymore."

Skylar’s fingers twitched once against her knee, but she said nothing. Let Reagan shape the story in her own time.

"He hurt me. Him and his brother. Over and over." Reagan’s nails dug into her palms. "They said I deserved it. That it was my fault."

The air in the apartment felt thick, almost unbreathable. Reagan lifted her head slowly and met Skylar’s eyes across the dark room.

"I got out," she said. "But I don't think... I don’t think they ever let me go." Skylar nodded once. No pity. No horror. Just understanding.

"They're back," Reagan whispered, voice splintering. "And this time... I don't think they're going to settle for just haunting me."

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then Skylar pushed herself to her feet and crossed the room. 

Reagan kept her gaze fixed on a crack in the floorboards, her voice low and tight like she was strangling the words out. "It wasn’t just him. Travis. Owen was there, too. Sometimes he... held me down. Sometimes, he just watched. Smiling like it was a fucking joke." Her hands twisted the blanket in her lap so hard the fabric creaked. "It wasn’t every day. At first, it was just yelling. Just pushing. Just..." she swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat. "But it got worse. Little by little. Until I didn’t know who I was without bruises."

Skylar sat perfectly still, not flinching, not crying, just listening, breathing slow and steady like she could anchor Reagan through the words.

"And their parents," Reagan spat, bitterness lacing every syllable. "They knew. They saw the bruises. They heard the screaming. They laughed. Called me ‘dramatic.’ Said boys will be boys."

Her throat burned, memories crowding her mind like smoke choking out the air. "Their mother once told me if I stayed quiet, they'd 'forgive me' for making such a scene." Reagan’s lip curled in disgust. "Their father said girls like me should be grateful someone wanted them at all."

She shook her head, hating the sting of tears at the back of her eyes. "They covered for them. Paid people off. Threatened teachers. Called in favors. They thought they were invincible because they sat behind podiums and smiled for cameras."

Reagan dragged in a broken breath and lifted her head. The room tilted slightly but she forced herself to focus on Skylar's steady, quiet presence.

"I didn’t just survive Travis and Owen," she whispered. "I survived a whole fucking empire built on power, money, and lies."

Skylar leaned forward slowly, careful not to touch her yet. "You did more than survive, Rae. You fought your way out."

Reagan blinked at her, the ache in her chest almost unbearable. "But they’re not done," she said. "They’re coming for me. I can feel it."

Reagan sat curled on the couch, knees to her chest, the faint hum of the city filtering through the half-closed window. Skylar paced back and forth, tapping a restless rhythm against her thigh. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Reagan’s phone buzzed once on the table. She didn’t move. Skylar shot her a look. "You gonna get that?" Reagan reached out slowly, hand hesitant. She picked it up. Screen lit up. One new message. It wasn’t a number she recognized. Her stomach twisted before her mind even caught up. She tapped the screen. A photo filled the screen. Herself. Sleeping. Taken from inside her apartment. Reagan dropped the phone like it burned her. She stumbled back, hitting the wall behind her. "What? What is it?" Skylar demanded, already crossing the room. She snatched the phone off the ground, her eyes darkening as she stared at the screen. "Fuck this," Skylar snapped. "Get your shoes. We're going to the goddamn police." Reagan couldn't think. Could barely breathe. She nodded numbly, letting Skylar drag her into motion. The drive to the station blurred together in a whirl of headlights and cold air. Reagan sat rigid in the passenger seat, fingers digging into her thighs so hard her nails broke skin. Inside the police station, fluorescent lights stabbed at her eyes. Skylar slammed the photo down on the counter. "Someone broke into her apartment. Took pictures of her while she slept. Are you going to do something, or are you just going to sit there?" The desk officer looked up, bored, unimpressed. "Ma’am, unless you have proof of a break-in, there’s not much we can do." Skylar’s fists clenched at her sides. "Proof? You want her dead before you lift a goddamn finger?" The officer shrugged. "It could be a prank." Skylar slammed her palm down hard enough to rattle the computer monitor. Reagan flinched violently at the sound, pressing both hands to her head as panic detonated inside her. "No, no, no, not here, not now," she gasped, her voice cracking, her knees buckling under her. Skylar spun around, catching Reagan before she hit the floor, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Are you fucking blind?" Skylar roared at the officer. "Look at her! Look at what you’re doing by ignoring this!" Reagan squeezed her eyes shut, rocking slightly, drowning under the weight of the fluorescent light, the cold floor, the too-loud voices. Skylar didn’t wait for another bullshit excuse from the officer. She wrapped her arm tighter around Reagan’s shoulders and half-carried, half-dragged her out of the station. The cold night air hit Reagan like a slap but she still couldn't breathe right. Her hands were still pressed against her head, her whole body trembling, stuck in a loop she couldn’t break. "It’s okay, Rae," Skylar muttered under her breath, shoving open the car door and guiding Reagan inside. "I’ve got you. Fuck them. I’ve got you." Skylar slammed the door, sprinted around to the driver’s side, and peeled out of the parking lot like she was running from hell itself. Reagan rocked slightly in the passenger seat, arms locked around her stomach, mouth moving without sound. Skylar kept glancing over, her jaw tight with rage and helplessness. "Breathe, Rae. In, out. You’re safe. I swear to God, you’re safe." Reagan dug her nails into her arms hard enough to draw blood but it grounded her, just enough to gasp in a ragged breath. The world outside blurred by—lights and shapes smeared into meaninglessness. She barely noticed when they pulled into a different driveway, not hers, not anywhere familiar. Skylar shut off the engine and turned to her. "Come inside. No questions. No bullshit." Reagan nodded weakly, letting Skylar haul her into a small, dimly lit apartment that smelled like coffee and detergent. Skylar didn’t push her onto the couch or force her to talk. She just dropped a heavy blanket over her shoulders, handed her a mug of water, and sat silently across from her, eyes sharp and fierce and unmovable. Reagan huddled under the blanket, hands still shaking, feeling like she might come apart at any second. But Skylar just sat there. No pressure. No pity. Just a presence that said: I’m here. I’m staying. You’re not doing this alone. 

Reagan sat frozen under the weight of the blanket, the mug of water forgotten in her lap. Her heartbeat still thundered too loud in her ears, drowning out everything but Skylar’s steady breathing across the room. She felt cracked open, hollowed out, but somewhere deep inside the ashes something new was sparking to life. She lifted her head, meeting Skylar’s eyes through the dimness. Her voice came out rough and broken but clear. "I can't run anymore." Skylar didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. She leaned forward slowly, voice low and sharp as a blade. "Good. 'Cause next time... we hunt." Reagan closed her eyes for half a second, breathing that in. No fear. No retreat. Just fire. Her phone buzzed again, somewhere across the room, vibrating against the wood floor like a rattlesnake. Skylar’s face hardened. Reagan didn’t move. Didn’t need to. She already knew. They weren’t going to wait for her to be ready. They were already here.