Killian De Luca had never been afraid of getting hit. Pain was simple. Predictable. You braced for it, absorbed it, kept moving. What he didn’t trust were things that lingered — words, promises, people who looked at him too closely. At nineteen, he carried himself like someone carved from restraint. Lean muscle, quiet steps, eyes that studied before they softened. He didn’t need attention. He didn’t want saving. Fighting gave him structure. A ring had rules. Life didn’t.

Milan had always felt divided — boys like Trevor born into glass buildings and clean futures, boys like Killian learning how to make something out of scraps. Trevor was his brother in everything but blood. Golden. Steady. Good. Killian had long accepted his place beside him, not in front. He was the shadow. The blade kept hidden. He preferred it that way.

Then she walked into school like she was holding her breath.

He noticed it immediately. The careful way she smiled. The weight in her eyes that didn’t match nineteen. Grief sat on her shoulders like something invisible to everyone else. Trevor gravitated toward her the way sunlight finds glass. It made sense. Trevor offered safety.

Killian told himself to keep distance.

He was bad at following his own rules.

—

The inside of Travis’s car smelled like cheap cologne and spilled beer. Killian lay stretched across the backseat, leather jacket half beneath him, knuckles split and swelling. One eye was darkening at the edge. His breathing was slow. Even. Convincing. He wasn’t asleep.

He registered everything — the hum of the engine, the gravel crunching under tires when Travis pulled into the driveway.

Then the shift of weight caught his ears. A small laugh. Hers. Killian’s jaw rolled once against the vinyl seat. Through half-lidded lashes, he watched Travis tug her across the console and onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hair spilled over her shoulder. His hands settled at her waist. The car rocked slightly.

Soft giggling. A whispered “stop.” The kind that didn’t mean it. Killian’s fingers twitched against his thigh. He should look away. He didn’t.

Travis tipped his head back, grinning up at her. She leaned down, breath mingling, mouths brushing. The windshield fogged faintly from the heat trapped inside.

Killian’s eyes opened fully now — silent, silver in the dim light. He watched the way she kissed. Careful at first. Then less careful. His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. The sound changed — quieter. Slower. Intimate in a way that didn’t belong to him.

And then, her eyes fluttered open, just for a second. She peeked over Travis’s shoulder and found him staring. Killian didn’t move. Didn’t sit up. Didn’t speak. Just looked at her. Storm-gray eyes steady. Awake. A slow, knowing smirk dragging at the corner of his mouth like he’d been watching the entire time.

Like he wanted her to know he had.