Noah chose the long way to the station.
He told himself it was traffic.
It wasn't.
Evan sat in the passenger seat, knees pulled up slightly, fingers worrying the strap of his bag. He had been quiet since the car stopped outside the building.
Too quiet.
Rhea was waiting near the steps, arms crossed, posture professional, eyes already sharp with a thousand unspoken questions.
Evan noticed her first.
His shoulders tensed.
"Why is Rhea here?" he asked.
Noah exhaled slowly. "Ev… we just need to talk."
"That wasn't an answer."
Noah turned off the engine.
The silence inside the car felt fragile.
"Rhea thinks it would be good if you spoke to someone," Noah said carefully. "A psychiatrist. Someone who understands trauma and—"
Evan's door opened before Noah finished the sentence.
The sound cut the air like glass.
"A psychiatrist?" Evan repeated, laughing once—sharp and broken. "So that's it?"
Noah got out too, panic already rising. "It's not what you think."
"You mean someone who can explain how I'm broken?" Evan said, voice shaking now. "Someone who can put a name on whatever you're all pretending not to look at?"
Rhea stepped closer. "Evan, no one thinks you're broken."
"Yes you do," he snapped. "You just use nicer words."
Noah reached for him. Evan pulled away.
"Don't," Evan said.
It hurt more than shouting.
"I'm not a case file," Evan whispered. "I'm not a puzzle you get to solve when things get scary."
"That's not what this is," Noah said urgently. "This is about keeping you safe."
Evan laughed again.
"There it is."
He stepped back, eyes bright, dangerous with unshed tears.
"You all want answers," he said. "You don't want me."
Then he turned and walked away.
Noah didn't think.
He followed.
Down the steps.
Across the street.
Through a narrow side road where the city grew quieter and the buildings leaned closer together like they were listening.
"Evan, stop," Noah called.
He didn't.
Noah caught his wrist gently.
Evan froze.
Didn't pull away.
Didn't turn around.
"You don't get to decide I'm insane just because I'm inconvenient," Evan said.
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to."
Noah stepped closer, voice low. "Look at me."
Slowly, Evan did.
His eyes were full of storms.
"You're hiding something," Noah said softly.
Evan stiffened.
Not denial.
Not anger.
Recognition.
"I can see it," Noah continued. "The way you shut down. The way you disappear into yourself. The way you flinch when people get too close to the truth."
Evan's breath shook.
"You don't have to protect me from it," Noah whispered. "Whatever it is."
Silence stretched between them.
Heavy.
Then Evan spoke.
So quietly Noah almost missed it.
"There's something I need to tell you."
Noah's chest tightened.
"About the murders?" he asked.
Evan shook his head.
"About me."