My throat constricts as tears threaten to spill over. Crying now would undo everything—would tear down the walls I've spent a year building. But Nate watches me with those knowing hazel eyes, and I feel my defenses crumbling like sandcastles against the tide.

"You've been crying," he states simply, no question in his voice.

I stand frozen as heat creeps up my neck, caught in the gravity of his gaze. When he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering against my cheek, the world seems to still. The tough exterior he shows others melts away, leaving just Nate—raw and real. His touch grounds me, creating a pocket of safety in the midst of chaos.

"Who was it?" The question cuts through the silence, sharp with controlled anger.

"What?" I gasp, fear spiking through my confusion.

"Who hurt you this badly?" His eyes are soft but determined, promising retribution without words. His gaze, usually comforting, now terrifies me with its intensity.

"N-No one," I stammer, the lie hollow in my mouth.

"That's not going to fly with me, Nora. Was it Connor?"

"No," I manage as the room spins faster. "It's not Connor."

"Hey.” Nate's hands frame my face, steadying me. "Look at me, Leni."

The nickname tightens something in my chest. I meet his eyes, seeing the depth of concern there, and it overwhelms me—not because of Evan, but because I dread what Nate might do if he discovers the truth.

"Nate, please," I whisper, my voice threadbare. "I don't want to talk about it. It's nothing. I'm just tired."

"Don't do that," he says, frustration flickering across his features. "Don't downplay this. Someone hurt you, and I want to know who."

"Why?" The question escapes like a breath.

"Because, Nora." His voice softens dangerously. "There's very little I wouldn't do for you. So, either you tell me, or I'll go find out myself. And it's going to be a lot worse for them if I have to find out on my own."

My attempts to deceive him are futile; he sees through every shield I raise.

"Nate," I choke out, "I just want to forget it. Please."

He exhales heavily, but his touch remains steady, anchoring me to the present.

"Okay," he concedes, though his eyes tell a different story—he's waiting patiently for my walls to crumble.

"Nora," he whispers, his gentleness pulling at the loose threads of my composure. "Can I hug you?"