BLAZE
Luther is a mess.
He’s too pale, his fingers stiff as he fumbles with that half-assed bandage job, blood soaking through the fabric faster than he can tie it off. He’s struggling to keep upright, but I already know he’s not going to ask for help. He never does. He never f*****g will.
I should’ve punched him the second he walked through that door.
I should’ve shoved him against the goddamn wall and demanded answers—where he’s been, what happened out there, why the f**k he let Amanda suffer alone all this time. Instead, I watched him walk right past her, watched her shrink into herself as if he’d gutted her without a word. And now he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong. Like we’re not all standing on a f*****g fault line, waiting for the inevitable break.
It makes me sick.
The
