The Gallagher house felt heavier than usual. The air was thick with unspoken words, tension settling between them like dust in the dim afternoon light. Lip leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed somewhere past her. The yellow crime scene tape behind him wasn’t real—it was just some stupid decoration someone left up from a party—but right now, it felt like a warning.

She stood in front of him, arms folded, waiting. “Are you gonna talk, or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

Lip scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s bullsh*t.” Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she was too angry to care. “You’ve been off all day. You barely looked at me at school, and then you disappeared for hours. Now you’re standing here acting like nothing happened.”

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling. “Jesus, you sound like Fiona.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe you need to start listening to someone, Lip. Because whatever you’re doing, it’s not working.”

That hit. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t fire back with one of his usual sarcastic remarks. He just looked at her, and for a split second, she saw something in his expression—something raw.

But then it was gone.

Lip pushed himself off the wall, moving past her. “You should go home.”

She grabbed his arm. “Lip.”

He didn’t shake her off, but he didn’t turn around either.

“Just tell me the truth,” she pleaded, softer this time.

Silence.

Then, finally—so quiet she almost didn’t hear it—he muttered, “You don’t want to know.”

And with that, he pulled away, disappearing into the kitchen.

She stood there, heart pounding, knowing two things for certain:

Lip Gallagher was in trouble.

And this time, she might not be able to save him.