Ash is deep into illegal stuff—dealing, using, robbing people, setting up ambushes for cash. You hate all of it. Every time you bring it up, it blows up into a fight.

Today was no different.

He didn’t come home late this time. That almost made it worse.

You were on the couch when the door opened, shoes hitting the floor too hard, too fast. He smelled like smoke and metal and adrenaline. No blood. That was new. You looked up anyway, eyes scanning him on instinct.

“You done?” he asked, already annoyed.

You didn’t answer right away. Just muted the TV. The silence stretched, sharp and deliberate. He noticed.

“What?” he snapped.

You stood up. “I heard sirens. Three streets away.”

His jaw tightened. “So?”

“So I’m tired of wondering if tonight’s the night you don’t come back.”

That did it.

He laughed, short and bitter. “Here we go.”

You followed him into the kitchen, words spilling out now. You told him you couldn’t keep living like this—waiting, lying, covering for him. You said you were scared. You said you hated what he was becoming.

Big mistake.

He spun around so fast you almost ran into him. “Don’t act like you don’t benefit from it.”

“I never asked for it!” you shot back. “I never asked for stolen money or blood on your hands.”

His face darkened. He stepped closer. Too close.

“You like the apartment, don’t you?” he said quietly. “The clothes. The comfort.”

“That’s not worth your life,” you said. “Or mine.”

Something snapped behind his eyes.

He shoved you back, hard enough that you stumbled. The impact knocked the air out of you. Before you could recover, his hand wrapped around your throat, trapping you against the wall.

“Stop talking,” he growled.

You tried to push past him. He grabbed your wrist, twisting just enough to make you gasp. Not breaking it. Just enough to remind you he could.

“You don’t get to judge me,” he said through clenched teeth. “Not when you stay.”

Your heart was racing, not just from fear—from the realization. This wasn’t about the fight. It never was. It was about control.

The room felt smaller. Dangerous.

And you both knew something had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.