I blink, trying to understand what the hell is going on. My brain is static. My body is concrete. I hear Rowan's voice somewhere in the dark, echoing and panicked, but I can't get to him. I can't even move a damn inch.
I thrash anyway—kicking, screaming—until someone's hand slams over my mouth, smothering the sound. A brutal kick crashes into my jaw and white‑hot pain explodes, blinding me for a second. Then a knee drives into my abdomen, pinning me down so hard it feels like my insides are tearing apart. Breathing hurts. Existing hurts.
"Naira! Naira, where are you?" Rowan's voice rips through the night, raw and terrified.
I want to answer him so badly. To yell his name, to curse, to whisper, I'm here. But nothing comes out. My throat is locked. My voice is gone.
"Oh, be quiet, you maggot." Maggy's voice drips poison close to my ear. "I don't see why you should live. Dying would do you good." She cackles like this is all just a sick joke she's finally winning.
Of course. Maggy.
Suddenly, I see him.
Rowan.
He crashes into the scene like a storm. In seconds, he's on the two boys, fists and fury, turning them into bloody pulp on the ground. He's a blur of anger and panic, fighting like he doesn't care what happens to him as long as he reaches me.
He runs toward me, chest heaving, eyes wild—
—but Maggy's already there, pressing cold steel against my throat.
A knife.
I want to scream his name, to tell him to stop, to run, to do anything but walk toward the girl who's holding my life between her fingers. But fear nails me to the spot. All I can feel is the knife, the shallow sting at my skin, and my heart beating so hard it hurts.
This is it, I think. This is how it ends.
Then everything happens at once.
A shadow barrels into Maggy from the side, kicking her off me so fast the knife clatters away. The crushing weight disappears. Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me up, anchoring me before I completely fall apart.
Rowan.
I don't even try to speak. Everything is too much. Too loud. Too heavy.
The only thing I can do is break.
I sob—ugly, choking, gasping sobs that tear out of my chest and won't stop. I can't hold anything back anymore. Not the fear, not the anger, not the exhaustion of always having to survive.
The world really wanted me to suffer. That's what it feels like, anyway. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I fight, it always wins. It won. It won, I repeat in my head like a sick little mantra.
Rowan holds me like I'm something fragile he refuses to let shatter. His voice is barely a whisper against my hair. "Shh, shh… It's okay. I'm here. I'm here."
I don't answer him. I can't. I just cry harder until I can barely breathe, my chest tightening, lungs burning.
I fucking hate my life. The thought is sharp, vicious. I wish I'd died back when the chance came on its own. It would've been easier than this.
Darkness rushes in at the edges of my vision, and I let it.
I black out.
—
When I open my eyes again, everything is too bright.
White ceiling. White walls. The harsh beep of a monitor keeping time with a heart that still, somehow, hasn't given up. My head feels heavy, my throat raw, like I swallowed broken glass.
Hospital.
I frown, trying to piece it all together. Why am I here? How am I still here? The last clear image is the knife, Maggy's laugh, Rowan's voice.
I shift a little, and that's when I notice the weight on my legs.
Rowan.
He's passed out on my hospital bed, head resting on my thighs like I'm the only safe place he could find. His curls—dark, messy, dyed at the ends—fall over his forehead, and for the first time since everything went to hell, a tiny, tired smile tugs at my lips.
He stayed.
He cared enough to save me. To fight for me. To not leave.
My fingers move on their own, sliding into his curly, dark‑dyed hair. I ruffle it gently, and the familiar texture under my hand soothes something in me I didn't even know was screaming.
I stare up at the ceiling, eyes stinging.
How the hell did I end up here?
"Hey, sleepyhead."
He turns and smiles at me. "You're okay," he says, and I smile back.
"Of course, silly. With you, I am always safe."
He smiles again. I like his smile. I love that he's lying on my lap, his head in my hands, while I'm in the hospital bed. I look into his eyes, smile, and kiss him.
"You are always going to be my hero. My love. And forever, Rowan."
"Your forever?" he asks.
"Yes, stupid," I say, and he chuckles, that deep, sexy laugh. God, how I love it.
We stare at the wall for some time as he tells me his bad jokes, his fingers laced with mine.
"You are the prettiest little thing I have ever seen, Naira. I hated what Maggy did to you," he says, his jaw tightening.
"Hey," I whisper.
I trace my fingers over his lips and see a deep cut. I notice more bruises on his arm, and anger burns through me.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. I saved you—that's what I'm happiest about. They could have done worse if I weren't there. Naira, look at me. Naira, I'm okay."
A tear slips from my eye, and I hug him so tight it still doesn't feel like enough to keep from losing him.
As he hugs me and soothes me, I breathe in the deep, strong scent of his cologne. Then the door swings open.
"Oh my God, Naira," my mom cries.
"Mommy."
She rushes to my side, wrapping me in her arms, rocking me gently like I'm a little girl again. "Hey, it's okay, baby girl. Mommy's here, Mommy's here," she whispers over and over, and for the first time since everything happened, I feel myself start to calm down.
I stay there, curled against her, letting her warmth and her voice ground me. The tight knot in my chest loosens just a little.
A moment later, Gali walks in, her eyes red and glassy. As soon as she sees me, the tears spill over. She almost throws herself onto the bed, hugging me as best as she can between the IV lines and the blankets.
"I thought I lost you," she chokes out. "I thought you were gone—that Maggy went too far. Oh God, Naira, I am so, so sorry."
I cling to both of them—my mom, my sister—feeling their arms around me, their tears on my skin. For the first time since the darkness swallowed me, I don't feel completely alone.