He doesn't say anything for a moment, just draws patterns in the dirt with his finger. Then he looks up, his eyes steady on mine.

I shift, trying to steer the conversation away from heavy stuff.

"So, what about Kelsie?"

"What about Kelsie?" he asks.

"I saw you two at the party, then the bonfire, and at the carnival too. She seems really into you."

Jake laughs, brushing off the idea. “There’s nothing going on there. Besides, I’m waiting."

"For what?"

"For the right one.” That makes my face heat up and I'm not entirely sure why. Something about the way he's waiting for someone he seems to already know freaks me out a bit. I force a laugh, trying to shake off the weird mood.

“What's next on the list to tackle today?" I ask, desperate to keep things light.

Jake brightens up, back to his usual self. "Eat our body weight in Cinnabons.” He grins like he's just solved all the world's problems.

"That I can do," I joke, grateful for the change of topic.

We hop on our bikes, pedaling towards Corrigan's, the cool morning air and the warm rising sun painting everything like a postcard. For a moment, I let myself believe everything can be as simple as bike rides and cinnabons.

The bakery wraps us in its warm embrace of cinnamon and sugar, a haven unchanged by time's cruel march. My stomach growls appreciatively at the fresh-baked aroma, earning a smothered laugh from Jake.

"Four of your finest Cinnabons, please," he announces, sliding cash across the counter. "Actually, make it twelve."

"You really weren't kidding about eating our body weight in Cinnabons, huh?"

"You only live once," he winks.

As Jake handles the transaction, my attention drifts to the window. That's when everything shifts—my skin prickles with awareness, my heart stutters, then races. I freeze, ice replacing blood in my veins as I spot him.

Evan.

He's across the street, surrounded by Eden's elite, laughing like he's never destroyed a life. My stomach twists into origami shapes, a silent scream building behind my ribs. The bakery door might as well be a fortress wall for how impossible it feels to move. Each second that ticks by feels like an eternity. Panic floods my system, my breathing shallow and quick as my body reacts before my mind can catch up.

Breathe.

I command myself.

Just breathe.

But the air feels like broken glass in my lungs. Pressure builds in my chest, my throat closing like it's caught in a vice. Each heartbeat sends ice through my veins, crashing against my skull with brutal force.

Breathe.

My next inhale catches, too fast and too shallow, as control slips through my fingers like water. The room starts to spin, simultaneously too quick and too slow. I dig crescents into my palms, trying to force my breathing into something resembling rhythm.