It was always like that — Isabella could already tell, just by the tension in Damon’s shoulders, when the night was going to end in chaos. He was the best friend anyone could have, loyal to the bone, but he was also a storm ready to break anywhere there was alcohol, loud music, and some idiot willing to provoke him. And there was always an idiot willing to provoke him. That party was no different. The smell of spilled drinks on the floor, cigarette smoke, the out-of-tune guitar from the band playing in the corner… Isabella tried to enjoy the night, but Damon was restless — eyes too alert, jaw too tight, footsteps too firm beside her. She recognized every sign. And then it happened. A man she had never seen before passed behind her — too fast, too bold — and put his hand where it didn’t belong. Isabella barely had time to react, but Damon saw it. He always saw. “Hey.” His voice cut through the noise of the party like a shot. By the time Isabella turned around, they were already shoving each other. By the time she blinked, the first punch had been thrown. By the time she breathed, Damon’s face was covered in blood, a security guard grabbing both of them by their shirts and throwing them out of the party. “You never learn.” Isabella muttered as she opened the door to her apartment, her heart still racing. Damon walked in silently, breathing hard, his hand braced on the wall as if the world were a little crooked. He always calmed down after a fight — like someone who should have been born in an era when solving everything with fists was normal. But Isabella didn’t find it funny. Without a word, she pulled him to the bathroom. The lamp cast a warm glow over the pale tiles, and Damon sat on the toilet like someone who had finally accepted a sentence.