Home doesn’t feel like home anymore.

It’s a war zone. One where the bullets are words and the wounds don’t show.

Ward’s always yelling—disappointed in things she didn’t even do. Rose plays innocent, guilt-tripping her with every sigh. And Rafe? Rafe’s just looking for a reason to snap.

Tonight was worse than usual.

“You walk around like the world owes you something,” Ward spits.

“I didn’t even say anything—”

“Exactly. You never say anything until it’s too late.”

She tries to leave, but Rafe blocks the door.

“Where you going, princess? Running to your little druggie again?”

“Get out of my way.”

“You’re pathetic.”

She doesn’t cry. Not anymore. She just walks. Fast. Phone in hand. Hands shaking.

And calls him.

JJ.

He picks up on the third ring.

“You good?”

“Can you come get me?” she whispers.

“Yeah. Where are you?”

He doesn’t ask questions. He never does.

When she gets in his truck, it’s quiet for a while. Then he reaches over, rests a hand on her thigh.

“They said something again, didn’t they?”

She nods, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“It’s like I breathe wrong and it’s my fault.”

JJ doesn’t say much. Just flicks his cigarette out the window and mutters:

“You don’t have to go back there tonight.”

He takes her to the Chateau.

Gives her his hoodie. Turns on the fan even though it’s cold—because he knows she hates silence.

They lie on the couch. She curls into him like he’s the only thing holding her together.

And maybe he is.

Because even with his own demons, his anger, his mess—he chose her.

That’s more than anyone else ever has.