The second? That was the one that made my ears ring. The one that made my head crack against the wall, my skull throbbing from the force of it. The one that sent me gasping, struggling, too dizzy to do anything but⁠—

“Don’t cry.” The words echoed in my head, but they weren’t his.

They were mine. A rule I had taught myself.

Don’t cry.

Don’t make a sound.

Don’t give him the satisfaction.

But I was too weak. Too breakable.

“Pathetic,” he spat, voice thick with disgust. “You think I wanna hear you crying? No wonder she never fought for you.”

Something inside me shattered.

Mom. Mom, mom, mom.

“Please,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “Please⁠—”

“Please what?”

The laugh that followed was ugly.

“You want your mommy?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Shut out his voice, his grip, the pain radiating from my ribs. But I couldn’t shut out the words.

“She’s dead, boy.”

I woke up gasping, chest heaving, ribs aching like I’d just run for miles. My hands clawed at the sheets, gripping too tight, desperate for something solid. Every inch of me ached. My skin felt wrong. The sheets felt wrong. The walls were wrong. The air was too hot. The bed wasn’t mine. Panic crawled under my skin, screaming at me to move.

I curled forward, pressing my palms into my eyes, trying to stop the images, to claw my way out of this, but my chest was too tight. “Where am I?” My voice barely sounded like mine.

I twisted, looking for something—anything—that felt real.

And then there was a hand on my arm.

I flinched so violently I nearly knocked her over.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It was just a dream.” Sydney’s voice was soft. Her hands hovered near me, as if she wasn’t sure if she should touch me or not. “You’re okay, Blake. We’re at the hotel, remember? In Mexico. You’re okay.”

No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t okay.

My hands were shaking, and my breath came too fast. My ribs ached as if I had been hit, as though I were still curled in that dark corner with his fingers pressing bruises into my skin.

I swallowed hard, my throat burning.

“Blake,” she tried again, softer this time. “It was just a dream.”

I inhaled shakily, forcing air into my lungs, but it wasn’t working. My body wasn’t listening.

Sydney reached out slowly, her fingers brushing gently against my wrist as if afraid to startle me. “Do you need⁠—”

“Beverly.”

Beverly. Beverly. Beverly. Beverly. I choked on it.

I didn’t realize I had said it out loud until I felt Sydney stiffen beside me. The sound of it tore out of me, broken, desperate, like my body needed her, like I was clawing through the dark and reaching for something that wasn’t there.