RIVAL’S POV
Thomas’s voice followed me like a buzzing mosquito.
“You don’t have to do this.”
I jammed my hands deeper into my jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the early-morning chill. The city still stank of last night — piss in alleys, smoke hanging low, the metallic bite of rain-soaked iron.
“Shut up, Thomas.”
“I mean it,” he pressed, jogging to keep pace. “Nobody owns you. Not Vega, not Samuel, not his circus crowd. You can walk away before—”
I stopped dead. He skidded half a step before he realized. My eyes cut into him, sharp enough to make him shrink.
“Thomas,” I said, voice low. “If you want to stay alive around me, here’s the rule: you don’t tell me what I can’t do. You just be cute enough to cheer when I’m bleeding. Got it?”
His mouth opened, shut, then opened aga
