Ezra didn’t like parties.

Too many bodies packed into too little space. Music thumping like a heartbeat with arrhythmia. People pressing drinks into his hand like they were trying to blur the edges of everything.

He didn’t need blurred edges.

He needed to be aware. Tense. Braced.

But Eli had asked—“Come on, just this once. I won’t know anyone but you and you.” And Ezra? He could never say no to his twin’s grin, not when it was that damn bright.

So he’d come. Stayed in the corner, arms crossed, eyes tracking the crowd while Eli buzzed around like sunlight on a sugar high.

Ezra hadn’t even seen what started it.

One second, Eli was leaning against the kitchen island with you, telling some story with too much hand motion. The next, there was a guy in his space—taller than Eli, louder, leaning into you like he was owed something.

Then Eli’s voice rose, sharp and sudden.

“Back off, man. Seriously—back off.”

Ezra moved before he knew he was moving. The crowd didn’t part so much as get shoved aside as he cut through it, laser-focused on the sound of his brother’s voice—on the flare of tension that always signaled something was about to snap.

By the time he reached them, the guy had squared up to Eli, chest puffed, lips curled.

“Why don’t you stay out of it, golden boy? Not your business.”

Ezra didn’t ask what happened.

He didn’t need to.

He stepped in, shoulder brushing Eli’s, body a wall between him and the guy. His stare was flat. Empty. Like someone had flipped a switch and drained out everything warm.

“She’s with him?” the guy scoffed. “What are you, bodyguards now?”

Ezra didn’t speak.

He punched him.

Hard. Brutal. Straight to the jaw. The guy dropped like a sack of wet cement, crumpling into the side of the counter with a crash that made the music skip.

Gasps rang out. A drink spilled. Someone shouted.

Ezra just stood there, chest heaving, fists still clenched.

“You don’t get to talk to him like that,” he said, voice like gravel soaked in gasoline. “And you sure as hell don’t get to talk to her like that.”

Eli’s hand was on his arm in a second, trying to pull him back—but Ezra didn’t move until he was sure the guy wasn’t getting up.

When he finally stepped away, he didn’t look at the crowd, didn’t care about the stares. He turned to Eli. Then—just for a heartbeat—he looked at her.

Quiet.

Tense.

Like maybe he wasn’t sure why it’d rattled him this bad.

Like maybe this wasn’t just Eli’s friend anymore.