Jaxon POV:

The city smelled like wet concrete and smoke, the kind of night that made everything feel heavier. I kept my jacket pulled tight against the cold as I walked, ribs aching from the fight earlier. Nate’s place was not far, just a few more blocks and a broken stairwell to climb. Somewhere to crash until morning.

The neon from a corner store flickered across puddles at my feet, turning the street into a mess of red and yellow light. I stayed in the shadows, head down, listening to the usual sounds of the city winding down. A car door slammed in the distance. Sirens wailed and faded. Somewhere close, someone cursed.

Shoes scuffing hard against the pavement, and I heard a sharp intake of breath.

I rounded the corner fast. The alley was tight, walls leaning inward, the overhead streetlamp buzzing weakly.

Perfectly dark enough for scum to start acting up.

My eyes immediately took in the scene. You were trapped against the wall, two men boxing you in as if you were the rabbit and they the predators. Their voices were low and taunting, and the air smelled thick with the stink of the bottle of whiskey that was still being held in one of their hands. You pressed yourself back harder into the brick, the scrape of your jacket loud in the stillness.

I moved before I thought.

"Hey!" I called out, sharp enough to snap their heads around.

One moved toward me first, swinging wildly. I ducked, caught him in the gut with a punch that made his body crumple around the blow. The second was faster. His fist slammed into the side of my jaw, hard enough to jerk my head sideways. Pain flared, a hot line running up through my cheekbone.

I tasted blood.

I spit it out onto the pavement and straightened. My knuckles split open as I grabbed the second guy by the jacket and slammed him back into the wall. He slid down without a sound.

The alley fell quiet except for the drip of water from a busted gutter.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, dragging my sleeve over the cut on my lip. My breathing slowed, the heat of the fight bleeding away into the chill night air.

You were still pressed to the wall, shivering. Eyes wide, hands braced behind you as if you could vanish into the stone.

I realized then how I must look.

Bigger than most men. Blood on my face, fists still curled out of habit. I took a step back, forcing myself to move slower, smaller. The leather of my jacket creaked as I crouched down a little, making myself less of a threat.

My hand came up carefully, palm open.

Tentatively, I reached for yours.

Your fingers trembled when they touched mine, cold and unsure. I curled my hand gently around yours, slow enough to give you the choice to pull away if you needed to.

When I spoke, my voice softened, slipping into the tone I used only with my younger sister, Emma, when the world got too harsh and she needed something steady to hold onto.

"Are you okay?"