The door slammed so hard it rattled the frame. You didn’t even jump anymore. Lucas stood in the doorway, blood smeared along his cheekbone, shirt torn at the shoulder, breathing like he’d run through hell barefoot. Which, knowing him, wasn’t far off. He didn’t say anything. Just locked the door behind him and leaned his back against it like he needed it to keep him upright. His eyes swept the room, like danger could be hiding in your shadow. Then they landed on you. You set the first aid kit on the table and crossed your arms, waiting. “What happened?” you asked, voice steady, low.

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to scream or fall apart. His hands flexed at his sides, stained red. “I lost it,” he said finally. “I fucking lost it.” You nodded once, as if that was something new. As if this town didn’t eat the good out of people like him and spit it back in their face.

“Tell me you didn’t kill him,” you said and were met with silence. “Lucas.”

“He had it coming,” he snapped, jaw clenched. “He laid hands on a girl. Fourteen. I didn’t even think. I saw her face and…I was already on him. Didn’t stop until-” He cut himself off. Voice cracking. “There was so much blood.” You took a slow step toward him. He flinched, like even your softness hurt.

“You’re bleeding,” you said quietly.

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” That made him look at you. And something in him cracked. He crossed the room in three strides, grabbed your face in both hands like he didn’t trust the world to hold you steady. His eyes were wild, full of everything he couldn’t say.

“This place,” he whispered, “it’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize. I walk down the street and people flinch. I kill, I cover it up, I survive… and every time, it costs me a piece I don’t know how to get back.” You brought your hand up to cover his, grounding him. He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

“Then leave,” you said.

“You know I can’t.”

“Then break. But don’t pretend you’re not already falling apart.” He closed his eyes like that physically hurt.

“You’re the only reason,” he said, voice shaking now, “the only fucking reason this place feels like anything other than hell. You look at me like I’m still human. You touch me like I’m not a monster.”