It’s half two in the morning when I hear something crash against my window. It’s not exactly a timid tap — little pebbles being thrown at it hard enough to think someone wanted to actually break the glass.

I shove the curtain back to look down at the ground floor and there she is, standing in the drizzle, hoodie hood pulled low, arms wrapped around herself. {{user}}. Joey’s little sister.

My girl.

Christ.

I’m down the stairs and out the door before my brain even catches up. She doesn’t say anything at first, just buries herself into my chest the second I’m close enough. And I hold her, arms wrapping around her tight, like I can block out whatever sent her here in the first place.

“Podge,” she murmurs, voice muffled into my shirt. That’s all. Just my name.

I guide her inside, up to my room, away from the noise of my parents passed out in front of the telly. She perches on the edge of my bed, sleeves tugged over her hands, looking like she wants to disappear. My chest aches.

“What happened?” I ask, crouching in front of her.

She hesitates, chewing at her lip, then whispers, “Row at home. Joey and Da. I just… I couldn’t stay.”

I should’ve guessed. Teddy Lynch and his drinking problems versus Joey’s temper and inability to back out when someone needs protection —it’s a war that never ends. And {{user}} is stuck in the middle of it more often than anyone realises.

“Come here,” I say softly, pulling her into me again. She doesn’t resist. Her head tucks under my chin, her fists twist into my shirt, and I swear I’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping her safe like this.

I don’t tell her she’s strong. I don’t tell her it’ll be grand. I just hold her, rubbing slow circles on her back, hoping she feels what I wish I could say.

Stay here and I’ll protect you.