He hesitates, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel because he's nervous. "Look, I wasn't supposed to say anything, but you'd kill me if you found out later."

"Jay…"

He exhales, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. "The dude you're working for, Nick. He paid off Monty's debt and then some. I don't know how much, but it was enough to get them to back off."

The words hit me like a gut punch. Nick, who's already done more for me than anyone has a right to, went out of his way. Again.

"When?" I ask, my voice tight.

"A couple of days ago,” Jay replies, his voice soft with understanding.

Nick never said a word. Not a hint. No expectation of gratitude or payback. Just quiet support, like always. I chew on the thought for a moment before I speak again.

"Hey, I need one last favor."

Jay cuts a look at me, raising an eyebrow. "Need me to take out a life insurance policy for you or something?"

I finally turn my head to look at him, meeting his eyes. "Take me to the police station."

Jay's hand freezes on the gear shift, his eyes narrowing. "Wait, what?"

"Please." It might be the first time I've ever used that word with Jay.

"Do I want to ask why?"

"To finally try doing the right thing," I say in a low voice, thinking of Nora, of Nick.

Jay mutters something under his breath about my tendency to act on impulse, but he doesn't argue. With a resigned sigh, he flicks on the blinker and makes a U-turn, heading for the station. The neon signs blur past us, each one bringing us closer to whatever comes next.

As the glowing sign of the police station comes into view, Jay pulls into a spot and cuts the engine. For the first time tonight, he looks directly at me, his usual smirk replaced with something softer, more serious.

"You sure about this?" he asks.

I nod. The only thing I'm sure of is I'm trying to do better. Be better.

He nods and reaches out, squeezing my shoulder briefly. He doesn't need to say anything else. That one gesture says it all: Call me if you need.

The Camaro's taillights fade into the night as Jay speeds off, leaving me standing alone under the flickering streetlight. I pull Evan's phone from my pocket, its screen lighting up like a window into his twisted world. The idiot didn't even have a passcode, like he wanted to get caught.

As I scroll through his photos, my stomach churns. It's worse than I imagined—photo after photo of girls who can't be older than sixteen, their faces etched with fear and vulnerability. My grip tightens around the device, and for a moment, I want to smash it against the pavement.

But I don't.

He deserves what's coming, and this is evidence that will bury him. I'll make sure of it.