The clock drags, the classroom suffocating. I barely hear the teacher. My mind is on Rafe, sitting just a few seats away. We haven’t spoken since our last fight, and the silence between us feels heavier than words.

I can’t take it anymore.

Muttering about the bathroom, I slip out. The hallway is eerily empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing. I push the door open—

And freeze.

Rafe.

He leans against the sink, arms crossed. His eyes flick up, indifferent.

I scoff. “Of course. Hiding out?”

He exhales sharply. “What do you want?”

I want to fix this. I want to—

Gunshots.

The walls tremble. A scream echoes down the hallway.

My breath catches—

Then Rafe is on me.

His hand clamps around my wrist, yanking me into a stall. My back slams against the wall as he locks the door.

“Shh,” he breathes, pressing a hand over my mouth.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Slow. Getting closer.

Terror grips me. My body shakes violently, tears spilling before I can stop them. Rafe feels it—his arms tighten, pulling me close, his lips brushing my temple.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The bathroom door creaks open.

A boot scuffs against the tile.

The stall next to us slams open. Then another.

A pause.

The footsteps stop outside our stall.

I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping Rafe’s shirt. His heartbeat pounds against mine.

Then—shouting.

“Drop your weapon!”

A crash. A struggle. Silence.

Sirens wail.

A voice booms, “Shooter down! The building is secure!”

I choke on a sob, my legs giving out. But Rafe doesn’t let me fall. His arms stay around me, holding me upright, steady.

The stall door swings open. We step out together. His grip never loosens.

For once, neither of us care about pride.