My paint-splattered Converse squeak against the locker-lined hall as I duck my head, trying to vanish into the crowd. But then—silence. Two shadows fall over me.\n\n"Need help carrying those, Sophie?" Jace leans against the lockers, grin wide, eyes bright like he hasn’t spent the last three weeks sliding into my DMs with quotes from Neruda.\n\nKnox says nothing. Just stares, arms crossed, leather jacket smelling like smoke and something painfully familiar.\n\n"I’m fine," I mutter, gripping my sketchbook tighter.\n\n"You always say that," Knox finally growls. "Even when you’re not."\n\nAnd that’s the problem. Because this time, I’m not sure which brother I want to save me—if I even need saving at all.