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That one lands.

Because unlike Travers, Kane doesn’t say shit just to hear himself sound tough.

He says it when he thinks it’s true.

I look toward the door Stella disappeared through.

Then toward the one Travers just slammed on his way out.

And for the first time since I transferred, I feel it cleanly enough to name.

This isn’t a triangle.

It isn’t drama.

It isn’t harmless overlap.

It’s the point where all the halves of my life stop cooperating and start demanding I choose.

And I’m running out of room to pretend I can keep everybody standing while I figure out which fire I’m actually willing to burn in.

Kane follows my line of sight.

Then looks back at me.

“You good?”

No.

Not even close.

I straighten anyway.

Cold face back on.

Prince armor up.

“Yeah,” I say.

He snorts like the lie offends him on a personal level.

Then he claps my shoulder once and heads back toward the weight room.

I stay where I am for one extra second, pulse still too high, hands still half useless with adrenaline, Travers’ words ringing in my head.

Pretty-boy bullshit.

Maybe.

But he was wrong about one thing.

I’m not toying with anything.

If I were, this would be easy.