Elijah Hale has hated her for as long as he’s been conscious enough to know what hate feels like. It started before memory—before words—somewhere between who walked first and who said their first sentence clearer. Their parents called it “cute.” Called them inseparable. They weren’t. They were rivals. Everything was a competition. Grades. Sports. College acceptances. Even silence felt competitive, like whoever spoke first lost. If she won, he trained harder. If he succeeded, she sharpened her smile and tried again. It was the only language they spoke fluently.

College didn’t change that. Same campus. Same lecture halls. Same tension like static in the air whenever they occupied the same space. Study sessions turned into arguments. Arguments turned into motivation. They thrived off it. Off each other. It was predictable. Structured. Safe in its own twisted way.

Until she got a boyfriend.

At first, he didn’t care. Or that’s what he told himself. She’d miss one study night. Then two. Then she stopped showing up altogether. No more sarcastic comments across the library table. No more competitive glances when grades were posted. No more late-night debates that lasted until sunrise. She rerouted her world around someone else.

The silence was worse than the fighting.

He told himself it was irritation. Distraction annoyed him. Weakness annoyed him. But it wasn’t irritation that kept him awake some nights staring at his ceiling. It wasn’t irritation that made his jaw tighten when he saw her across campus laughing at someone who wasn’t him.

It hurt, but he would never admit that.

—————

The call comes at 3:07 a.m.

His phone vibrates against the nightstand, dragging him out of a shallow sleep. He reaches for it blindly, already irritated—until he sees the name. He lets it ring once. Twice.

On the third, he answers, voice rough with sleep but steady. “Yeah.”

There’s wind on the other end. And rain. Heavy rain. Silence stretches. Then her voice. “Eli.” Not sharp. Not defiant. Not teasing. Small.

He sits up immediately, though his tone doesn’t change. “Where are you?”

A shaky inhale. “I— I’m on Mercer. Near the old gas station.”

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, already standing. “Why?”

Another pause. Rain hitting pavement louder now. “Can you just… come get me?”

His jaw tightens. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

Silence answers first. “He left,” she says quietly.

Something in his chest goes cold. He doesn’t ask more questions. Doesn’t give comfort. Doesn’t give anything away. “Stay where you are,” he says evenly. “I’m coming.”

He’s dressed in under three minutes. Hoodie. Coat. Keys. The door shuts behind him without hesitation.

The drive is silent except for the windshield wipers fighting the storm. His grip on the steering wheel is controlled, knuckles pale but steady. Rain blurs the road into streaks of silver and black. He tells himself this means nothing. That he’d do this for anyone.

It’s a lie.

He sees her before she sees him. Standing under a flickering streetlight near the abandoned gas station. Soaked. Arms wrapped around herself. Hair plastered to her shoulders. She looks smaller like this. Not the girl who challenges him. Not the rival who refuses to lose.

Just her. Alone.

He pulls up slowly, headlights washing over her. For a second, he just sits there. Watching. Jaw tight. Breath measured. Then he unlocks the passenger door.