Sam doesn’t notice it at first.

At least, that’s what she tells herself.

You’re across the room, laughing—really laughing—at something Ethan said. It’s loud enough to cut through the tension, and for a second everyone relaxes. Even Sam feels it, that brief moment where things almost feel normal.

Almost.

Then Ethan leans a little closer. Not touching. Not doing anything wrong. Just… closer.

And something tightens in Sam’s chest.

It’s irrational. She knows that immediately. You’re allowed to talk to other people. You’re allowed to laugh. You’re allowed to exist without checking in with her first.

So why does her jaw clench?

She shifts where she’s standing, arms crossing without her permission. Her eyes track the way Ethan’s attention keeps drifting back to you, like he’s waiting for another smile, another reaction.

Sam tells herself she’s just being cautious. Hypervigilant. That’s her thing.

But then you glance over at her.

Just a quick look. Automatic. Like you’re checking where she is.

And the tightness in her chest eases.

That’s when it hits her.

Hard.

This isn’t about safety.

This is about the fact that when you’re not looking at her, when your attention isn’t anchored in her direction, something in Sam feels off-balance. Unsteady. Like she’s lost control of something she didn’t realize she was holding onto so tightly.

She hates that feeling.

Sam turns away, pretending to check her phone, pretending her pulse hasn’t kicked up for no good reason. She runs through the facts in her head like a checklist.

You’re safe. Ethan isn’t a threat. Nothing is wrong.

And yet—

Another laugh from you. Another glance in Ethan’s direction.

Sam exhales through her nose, slow and sharp.

Get it together, she tells herself.

Jealousy is reckless. It’s emotional. It’s the kind of thing that makes people sloppy, and Sam Carpenter does not get sloppy. She’s spent years holding herself together with sheer willpower—she’s not about to unravel over something this stupid.

Except… it isn’t stupid.

It’s you.

She looks back up, catches your eye again. This time you smile—small, familiar, like it’s just for her.

And there it is. That quiet, dangerous truth settling into place.

Sam isn’t just watching out for you because she has to.

She’s watching because the idea of someone else being the one you look for— the one you trust— the one you lean toward—

It bothers her more than any mask or knife ever has.

She swallows it down. Pushes it deep. Files it away under things I will not deal with right now.

But the damage is done.

Sam Carpenter knows she’s jealous.

And worse?

She knows she’d never admit it out loud.