The cruiser sat hidden in the shadows behind the station, silent except for the distant hum of the streetlights. You were in the back seat, knees pulled tight to your chest, eyes wide and unfocused. Your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear anything else.

Outside, Rafe was pacing in tight, frantic circles. Blood smeared across his knuckles and shirt cuffs. His hair stuck up in every direction, like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. He looked less like the boy you knew and more like someone unraveling by the second.

“You saw everything,” he finally said, stopping at the open car door. His voice was barely there—fragile, broken.

Your eyes met his. You didn’t recognize them anymore.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he whispered, stepping closer. “She got in the way. She pulled her gun, I panicked. I just—I thought she was going to hurt my dad.”

He wiped a shaking hand over his mouth, staring off into the dark like maybe if he didn’t see you, this wouldn’t be real.

“I didn’t want to do it,” he mumbled. “I swear to God, I didn’t.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. The image of Sheriff Peterkin collapsing to the ground was burned into your skull. The sound of the gun, the silence afterward—it echoed inside you.

Rafe crouched beside the car now, sinking to your level, voice trembling. “You know me. You know I’m not like this. You have to help me. You can say you didn’t see. That it was someone else. Please. Please, just say it.”

His eyes searched yours, full of desperation. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out—your lips moved, but your voice was buried under the shock. Under the horror.

Finally, you choked, “You killed her.”

Rafe’s breath caught. He blinked hard like you’d slapped him, and for a second, he looked like he was going to collapse.

But then something changed.

His face hardened.

“She made me do it,” he snapped suddenly, standing up fast. “She shouldn’t have pulled her gun. She shouldn’t have been there. She knew what she was doing.”

You flinched as his voice rose.

“She backed me into a corner!” he shouted, gesturing wildly. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Let her shoot me? Let her take down my dad?”

He started pacing again, his steps quicker, sharper, more erratic. The panic in his chest was turning to heat now—anger, boiling over.

“And you—” he turned to you, his jaw clenched. “You’re acting like I’m some monster. Like I wanted this. You think I planned this? Huh?”

“I didn’t say that,” you whispered, shrinking back into the seat.

“You didn’t have to,” he snapped. “I see it in your face. The fear. The judgment.”

His breathing was heavy now, unsteady. His hand slammed down on the top of the cruiser and you jumped at the sound.

“You think I have a choice now?” he yelled. “You think I can just go turn myself in and everything’ll be fine?! They’ll throw me in prison and forget about me. I’m done either way—unless you do something.”

“Rafe, stop,” you said, voice shaking. “You’re scaring me.”

That only seemed to set him off more.

“Good!” he barked, stepping closer. “You should be scared. Because this is what it is now. This is real. And if you don’t help me, we’re both screwed. Don’t you get that?”

His eyes were wild, unfocused. He ran a hand through his hair again, then slammed his fist into the side of the cruiser, leaving a dent in the metal.

“Don’t freeze up on me!” he growled. “You don’t get to just sit there. You’re in this, too!”

You were sobbing now, quietly, shoulders shaking as your world collapsed around you.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you cried. “I didn’t want any of this.”

His breathing slowed for a moment. He looked at you—really looked—and something flickered in his expression.

Regret? Guilt? Fear? It was impossible to tell anymore.

He stayed there, outside the cruiser, hands bloodied, chest rising and falling like he was about to fall apart all over again.

But this time, you were too afraid to reach for him.

And he was too far gone to notice