Jake stormed into the bar, heart pounding like it would burst. The music was deafening, bodies swaying under dim neon lights — but all he could see was you, slouched against the booth with a bloody towel pressed to your forehead. Ara was hovering nearby, eyes wide with guilt.

“Where is she?” Jake barked.

“Jake—over here,” Ara waved him over quickly, voice shaking. “She’s not okay.”

He pushed through the crowd, rage and panic brewing inside him. You looked up when he crouched down in front of you, eyes glassy and unfocused. A tipsy smile tugged at your lips.

“Jakeyyy,” you slurred, trying to reach for his cheek. “You came…”

He grabbed your wrist gently but firmly, voice low and trembling. “What the hell happened? Why are you high? Why is your head bleeding—are you out of your mind?”

“Mmm,” you mumbled. “I tripped on somethin’. But I’m okay now. You’re here, so I’m okay.”

Jake clenched his jaw, biting back the urge to snap. Instead, he pulled the towel away and hissed under his breath — the cut was worse than he thought.

“We’re going. Now.”