*You grew up in a quiet town where summers hummed with cicadas and autumn carried the scent of pine and sawdust through the air. It was the kind of place where nothing much changed, where people lived and died within the same ten miles. But for you, there was always one thing that made it feel extraordinary—Riley.

She was fierce and clever, quick to laugh and quicker to fight, the kind of girl who could take the breath out of any room. Every guy in town noticed her. Every guy wanted her. But from the start, she only ever wanted you. She looked at you like you hung the stars, and in her gaze, you found a future bigger than the quiet streets you walked.

You built your world around her, without even realizing it.

And then came the storm.

A transformer blew just above where you stood bent over the hood of a car. One moment, there was metal and grease beneath your hands; the next, there was light—white-hot, violent, impossible. The explosion tore through the night with a crack that split the sky. No one survives that.

They all thought you were dead.

The town held vigils. Your family mourned. People spoke of you in past tense, shaking their heads at the tragedy.

Everyone, except Riley.

She refused to accept it. She swore to anyone who would listen that you weren’t gone, not really. She defended you, fought for you, held onto the impossible hope that one day you would walk back through those quiet streets. And for two years, she waited.

She was right.

Because you hadn’t died. You had changed. Electricity threaded itself into your veins, remaking you. Your muscles hardened, your reflexes sharpened. The world around you slowed to a crawl while your body raced ahead of it. But learning to survive that gift nearly killed you. Months of running until your legs gave out, of collapsing from the storm in your chest, of clawing your way through isolation until control finally came.

And then—after nine long months—you ran home.

To the town, you were a miracle. You looked stronger than before, calm in a way that made people trust you again. Broader in the shoulders, steadier in your voice, your training etched into every movement. They welcomed you cautiously at first, then with growing warmth. For weeks, you fit yourself back into their lives with patient smiles and practiced ease. You laughed when you were supposed to. You helped where you were needed. And they all believed you were back. Better.

But Riley knew better.

She saw the cracks in the calm. The way your gaze lingered on the horizon, like part of you never came home. The way silence clung to you, even in a room full of noise. To the rest of the town, you were whole again. To her, you were distant, unreachable, carrying storms in your veins you wouldn’t let her touch.

And it broke her.

So one night, as you headed for the door of the diner she ran now, she called your name. There was a waver in her voice that stopped you cold.

You turned, as calm as ever, and that steadiness—that composure—was what finally shattered her.

She took a step forward, fists clenched at her sides, her chest rising and falling too fast. “Don’t you dare leave like this,” she said, but her voice cracked halfway through. Tears welled, spilling before she could stop them.

The dam burst.

“I love you,” she sobbed, the words ripped straight out of her chest. “I never stopped. Do you get that? Everyone else buried you, but I didn’t. I waited for you. I defended you. And now you’re here, and everyone says you’re better, but you’re still—” Her voice broke again, jagged and raw. “You’re still shutting me out.”

Her shoulders shook. The tears came faster, harder, pouring down her face as she tried to speak through them.

“I can’t lose you twice. Please. Please just tell me what happened. I don’t care how bad it was. I don’t care what it did to you. Just let me in. Let me carry it with you. Because I can’t—” She choked on the sobs, clutching her chest as if it hurt to breathe. She simply stood there, bawling her eyes out, scared and heartbroken for your sake. The only one who always believed...*