Dad sighed. “Poor kid. Just trying to do the right thing.”

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack. Blake had beaten him half to death, and Mason had spun it into a martyr’s tale. I wondered what he’d think of the “poor kid” if he knew that same boy had tried to force himself on his own daughter just days before. If he knew the fear I still carried like a weight in my chest, pressing, pressing, pressing.

A cold sensation spread through me. The world blurred at the edges, but I forced my face into a mask.

“I don’t know what this town is becoming,” Dad muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “But I’m not liking it.”

Neither am I, I wanted to say. But for very different reasons.

“You should make sure he gets some help making his way around,” Dad added.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Dad,” I replied, forcing calmness into my words. “He’s rich and has a lot of friends.”

“Rich doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Mom cut in, frowning at me.

Alaric nodded in agreement. “Your mom’s right. If anything, money makes you more of a target⁠—”

“I think Beverly means Mason always seemed entitled,” Blake interjected.

Dad shot him a disapproving look. “I don’t care how entitled a person is, they don’t deserve to be beaten to a pulp, Blake. He tried to do the right thing.”

Blake scoffed, shaking his head. “I disagree.”

Alaric gave a dry chuckle. “That’s not surprising.”

“He’s a bad person, and I wouldn’t take what he says seriously,” Blake said firmly, leaning forward slightly. “Personally, I don’t feel one bit sorry that he’s in the hospital.”

Dad let out a heavy breath. “You don’t mean that, Blake.”

“Oh, I do.”

I stared at Blake, my heart pounding in my chest, each beat so loud it drowned out everything else.

I wondered if it made me a terrible person to feel grateful. Blake had done something wrong—objectively, undeniably wrong. Something that, by any reasonable standard, couldn’t be justified. But I couldn’t bring myself to be upset. I couldn’t bring myself to care about Mason lying in a hospital bed. Not when, for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe. Like the weight pressing on my chest had lightened just enough to let in air.

I should’ve felt guilty for that, shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t I’ve been disgusted with myself for sitting there, listening to my father’s disapproval, and feeling nothing but relief?

It felt like the world expected me to be upset.

But I couldn’t. Because Mason wasn’t the real victim.