I'm not dying in a bakery, I repeat silently, searching for an anchor. It's all in my head. I'm in control. But watching him stand there, carelessly destructive, the bitter truth crashes over me—I'm nowhere near in control.

This panic isn't just in my head. It's real, visceral, consuming.

He's real.

And he's here.

The bakery dissolves around me. I'm back in that room last summer, frozen, powerless. His threats echo in my ears, venomous promises that sealed my silence. Every buried fear claws its way to the surface, leaving me raw.

"Hey.” Jake's voice cuts through the fog, concern bleeding through.

"Nora? You okay?" I nod mechanically.

"Yeah... yeah, I just..." My voice wavers before I steady it. "Could we get these to go? I'm feeling off."

Jake's expression tightens with worry, but he doesn't push. "Sure," he says, guiding us out quickly, reading my desperate need to escape.

I follow, eyes down, feeling Evan's gaze burn into my back. Despite Jake's protective presence, loneliness pounds through me like a second heartbeat.

As we pedal home, the world blurs into watercolor smears, indistinguishable from my churning thoughts. Jake keeps glancing over, concern etched deep, but I keep my eyes forward, not daring to meet him.

How do I admit that Evan being here has shattered my carefully reconstructed sense of safety?

The wind whips past, but it's nothing compared to the hurricane inside me. Gripping the handlebars, one thought crystallizes with terrifying clarity: I'm nowhere near ready to face him.

25. A Part Of Me Died

CHAPTER 25

A PART OF ME DIED

NORA

June, 2006

15 years old

It's Saturday night, and for once, I'm actually excited. All week, I've been looking forward to crashing at Claire's place for our usual sleepover ritual—snacks, laughter, and endless episodes of One Tree Hill.

Claire, with her magnetic personality, has always been the one in the spotlight, while I preferred the quiet of the shadows. She was always transforming ordinary moments into adventures while I orbit contentedly in her glow.

The moment we reach her room after saying goodnight to her mom, Claire's energy crackles with an intensity that sets my nerves on edge. The sharp snap of her bedroom door feels like a starting gun, and when she turns to me, a familiar guilty look twists her features.

"What?" My voice cracks, betraying the apprehension coiling in my stomach.

"Don't be mad," Claire starts, her voice honey-sweet but her eyes calculating. She's never truly sorry, and we both know it.

"Just spit it out," I push, steeling myself.

"Promise you won't be mad first?" She scrunches her face in practiced remorse.

I tip my head back, exhaling slowly. "Fine, I won't be mad." The words taste like surrender.

She practically vibrates with excitement. "Evan invited us to a party, and I said we'd go." Her eyes sparkle at his name.

"He invited us or just you?”