The air between you is thick with tension, the kind that feels like it could shatter at any moment. Rafe’s standing in front of you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. He’s angry, no, he’s furious. And so are you. You’re tired of his reckless behavior, of watching him self-destruct and drag you down with him. “I can’t keep doing this, Rafe,” you say, voice shaking, whether from anger or something deeper, you’re not sure. His eyes flash with something unreadable. “So what, you’re just gonna walk away?” His voice is sharp, cutting. You take a step back. “Maybe I should.” Wrong answer. Before you can turn, his hand wraps around your wrist, not hard, not rough, just enough to stop you. Just enough to make you stay. “You walk away now, and we’re done.” The words hang in the air, heavy, final. His grip on you loosens, but he doesn’t let go. He’s daring you to leave, but the way his fingers linger against your skin tells you he doesn’t want you to. Your heart pounds. He’s giving you an out. But do you want to take it? You could leave. Maybe you should. But then he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Don’t.” It’s not an order this time, it’s softer. And that’s what breaks you. You take a step closer, closing the space between you. “Then give me a reason to stay.” His fingers trail down your arm, and when his eyes meet yours, you know you’re not going anywhere.