The rain hadn't stopped.
It poured like judgment—soaking through blood and betrayal.
My chest burned; every breath felt like someone sliding a blade across my ribs. My back ached with old fire and fresh cold. My palm throbbed where the skin had blistered and split. I couldn't tell if the shaking was from exhaustion or rage.
Caden's voice broke into a hoarse sob—the sound of a man stripped of something he'd worshipped.
"Pop… it hurts. He—he almost killed me."
His hand clawed at the mud, fingers sinking in as if he could anchor himself to the earth. Such a clown.
Then my father moved.
He didn't rush. He didn't shout. He stepped from under the umbrella— his coat a dark, dry line in the rain— and he slapped me. clean, hard. The sound a blunt punctuation. The slap landed across my cheek and the world tilted.
