She stepped off her bike just as Killer emerged from the garage, wiping grease from his hands with a dirty rag. His shirt was half undone, revealing the ink that marked years of blood, brotherhood, and battles.
"You're back earlier than I thought," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned her face. “How is she?”
Violet sighed, brushing a hand through her windblown hair. “Broken. Scared. She’s not running because she doesn’t care—she’s running because she’s losing herself.”
Killer gave a slow nod, jaw tightening. “Devil’s tearing apart at the seams. If she leaves, I don’t know what’ll be left of him.”
“I know,” Violet murmured. “But Haru needs air before she drowns. She’s not the type you can keep in a cage, even if you line it with roses.”
They stood in silence for a moment,
