JJ Maybank was dead. Your brother was dead. You stared at the bonfire, flames flickering, shadows dancing across your face as the images replayed in your head — JJ’s blood on your hands, his body still and unyielding. You hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to the last piece of family you had. Your legs carried you away before you even realized it, the crackle of the fire fading behind you. You didn’t know where you were going, just needing to escape the suffocating weight in your chest. Once you were sure you were far enough from the others, your knees gave out. You collapsed, chest heaving, hands clawing at the dirt, cursing. Sobs racked your body, raw and uncontrollable.

You didn’t even notice the shadow at the edge of the trees. “Hey…” The voice was low, cautious, careful — not demanding, not prying. You lifted your head slightly, sniffling, but didn’t answer. Rafe Cameron stepped closer, boots crunching softly on the gravel. His face was tight, jaw set, eyes scanning you quickly before settling. Without a word, he crouched beside you and, before you could protest or push him away, wrapped his arms around you. Solid, steady, grounding.