"Nate and his dad—it's complicated," I struggle to explain. "Their relationship has been broken for years. Nate's been through hell because of him. If he walks into this unprepared..."

"Glad I'm not the only one with daddy issues," Camilla jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Marcus and Mia exchange worried looks.

"Want us to try calling him?" Camilla offers gently.

Before I can answer, the front door opens. I would know Nate's voice anywhere. He enters alongside Nick, expression neutral at first, until his eyes land on Scott. The air seems to vanish from the space around us. His entire body transforms, tensing for battle. His face hardens, eyes narrowing, and the vulnerable boy from last night disappears, replaced by someone I barely recognize—someone with hatred burning in his eyes.

I stand frozen, watching the storm gather in his expression.

My heart splinters.

All I want is to grab his hand and run. Run far from here. This look in his eyes now—this is why Nate hates his father. This is the part of him I couldn't fully grasp until yesterday, when he finally let me see behind his walls. Scott paces toward where Nate and Nick stand, each step deliberate and casual, as if he hasn't just walked straight into a minefield. The tension radiating off Nate is almost visible, like heat waves distorting summer air.

"Hello, son," Scott says, his voice strained as he tests the waters, softening the blow with that word—'son'—as if it still means something between them. As if he has any right to claim it.

Nate doesn't respond.

His fists clench at his sides, knuckles turning bone white beneath tanned skin. His breathing comes shallow and quick, like he's holding onto control by the thinnest thread. I can almost see it fraying.

"Nate?" I call softly, taking a step toward him, my heart pounding so loud I can barely hear myself.

His face is etched with a pain that makes my chest ache, eyes darkening as if the shadows inside him are growing, threatening to consume everything soft and vulnerable I'd held in my arms last night. I want to throw myself between him and this moment, protect him from it, but I know that won't be enough. Nothing ever is when it comes to Scott.

"Nora, don't," Jake mutters under his breath, suddenly beside me. His voice is tight, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "He's fine. He just needs to calm down."

But Nate isn't fine. He's anything but. His whole body is wound tight, like a bomb ready to explode, and I can almost hear the fuse sizzling down.

Scott shifts his attention to Lydia, deliberately ignoring the ticking bomb in front of him. "I was just about to speak to your mother," he says, his tone too familiar, too dismissive. The audacity of it makes my skin crawl.