Snow blanketed the rooftops of Jackson, quiet and undisturbed like a secret tucked under layers of time. Lights shimmered from the community hall, casting soft golden hues across the frosted glass, spilling warmth into the icy air. Inside, laughter and chatter clashed gently with old music crackling from a salvaged speaker. The Winter Dance had returned—Jackson’s first in years—and it almost felt normal. Like the world hadn’t gone to hell.

You stood near the edge of the room, fingers brushing over the soft blue of your borrowed dress. Dina had found it in one of the storage closets, and Ellie insisted you wear it. “It makes your eyes look like moonlight,” she said, grinning. You smiled at the thought, but the warmth didn’t quite reach your heart. You were waiting—for him.

Manny.

Your Manny.

He’d left early that afternoon to help with patrol, promising he’d be back in time to walk you to the dance. “I’d never miss a chance to show you off, cariño,” he said with that crooked smile and warm Spanish lilt that still made your knees wobble. Manny had always been your protector, your best friend since before the world collapsed, before your father—before the scream and the shot that ended it all. You were never a fighter, never needed to be. Manny carried enough fight for the both of you. He’d promised your father he’d look after you, and so far, he never broke that promise.

Until tonight.

You glanced at the old clock on the wall. Nearly an hour late. Maybe longer.

“You okay?” Jesse’s voice broke your thoughts.

You turned to him, giving a soft nod. Jesse had cleaned up nice. He wore a dark button-up and a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. There was something comforting about him—he was steady, loyal, always showing up for you even when he didn’t have to. You remembered how he looked the day he was appointed to the town council. Proud, responsible. That maturity was part of what made him dangerous in Manny’s eyes.

“I’m fine. Just waiting.”

Jesse didn’t say anything for a moment, then offered you his hand. “He’ll show. But until he does… dance with me?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t right, was it? But standing alone while couples twirled around you didn’t feel right either. And Jesse was safe. Just a friend.

You took his hand.

His grip was gentle as he guided you to the center of the room. People smiled. You danced slowly, quietly. But every time you laughed at something Jesse whispered, you felt it—that creeping guilt twisting in your chest like a knife.

And then the door slammed.

Your head snapped around.

Manny stood in the entrance, snow in his hair, coat half-buttoned, chest rising and falling like he’d run the whole way back from patrol. His eyes found you—instantly, unerringly. Then they dropped to Jesse’s hands on your waist.

You pulled away from Jesse, instinctively.

“Manny,” you breathed, walking toward him.

His eyes were storm-dark, jaw clenched. He looked tired—more than tired. Worn down. You reached for him, but he didn’t step forward.

“I told you I’d be here,” he said, voice low. Accented. Hurt.

“You’re late,” you whispered. “I thought—”

“You thought what?” he cut in. “That I’d just forget about you? About tonight? I said I’d come.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t know if something happened on patrol. I was worried.”

He looked away for a second, like it hurt to see you, then back again. “And Jesse was just… helping?”

You nodded, chest tight. “We were just dancing.”

Manny laughed, bitter and quiet. “You don’t see it, do you? He doesn’t just want to be your friend.”

“I don’t want Jesse,” you said. “I want you.”

His face softened, barely. But he didn’t reach for you. “Then why did it feel like I was walking into a goodbye?”

You blinked, unsure how to answer. The room felt too bright, too loud.

“Manny—”

“You know how many people here would kill for what we have?” he said, voice cracking. “I never cared about Owen, or anyone else, because I knew you were mine. You’ve always been mine. Since we were kids.”

“I am yours,” you said, voice shaking.