The air was cool on the balcony, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the garden below. Joi sat on the stone ledge, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring into the darkened sky. The stars seemed impossibly far away, cold and indifferent, like silent witnesses to the storm inside her.
Her chest felt hollow, a quiet ache pressing against her ribs. Confronting Blanca had taken everything she had. The house, Blanca's voice, even the sterile smell of the room—all of it had dragged her back to a place she'd tried so hard to forget.
But the confrontation was over now. The scars were still there, but a strange lightness lingered. It wasn't relief exactly, but something close.
The sound of footsteps behind her was soft, deliberate. She didn't turn around; she didn't have to. Adrian's presence was as familiar as her own shadow.
He stood silently at first, leaning against the balcony railing beside her. His gaze followed hers, up to the stars, his silence offering comfort without demand.
"I keep wondering," she said finally, her voice quiet but strained, "if coming back was a mistake. If I'm just... making everything worse."
Adrian shifted, leaning closer but still giving her space. "Why do you think that?"
Joi let out a shaky laugh. "Because every time I see them—Kate, Blanca—it's like I'm back there again. Weak. Powerless." She glanced at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "What if I'm just chasing something I'll never find?"
Adrian's lips pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowing. He hesitated, as though weighing his words carefully.
"You're not powerless," he said firmly. "You walked into that house today, Joi. You faced her. You didn't have to, but you did. That's not weakness—that's strength."
Joi shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. "It doesn't feel like strength. It feels like drowning."
Adrian exhaled slowly, his hand reaching out to gently brush against hers. "When I was younger," he began, his voice quieter now, "I watched my family fall apart because I thought holding back made me strong. I thought if I stayed silent, I could hold everything together." He paused, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "It didn't work. Silence didn't make me strong. It just made me bitter. And I let people who didn't deserve it keep hurting me."
Joi turned her head toward him, her eyes softening.
"I can't change what happened," he continued, "but I learned something: strength isn't about being invincible. It's about showing up even when you're terrified. Like you did today."
Her tears slowed as his words sank in. Adrian's hand covered hers completely now, his grip warm and steady.
"You're not alone anymore, Joi," he said softly. "Whatever happens next, I'll be here. You don't have to face it alone."
For the first time that evening, Joi allowed herself to breathe.
---
Later that evening, Adrian stepped outside to the terrace, the crisp night air wrapping around him. The stars were scattered above like tiny flecks of silver, and the distant hum of crickets filled the silence. He found Alexander leaning against the railing, a cigarette between his fingers, its tip glowing faintly in the dark.
"Didn't think you smoked," Adrian said, stepping closer.
Alexander exhaled slowly, the smoke curling into the night. "I don't. Old habits, though—they die hard."
Adrian crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the garden below. "You've been quiet since this afternoon."
Alexander let out a low chuckle. "So have you. I figured you'd want some space after everything with Joi."
Adrian didn't respond immediately. Instead, he shifted his weight, running a hand through his hair. "I feel like I'm failing her."
Alexander turned his head, his expression sharpening. "Failing her how?"
"By not knowing what she needs. By trying to fix things I can't fix." Adrian's voice was quiet, almost bitter. "Every time I step in, I wonder if I'm helping or just making it worse."
Alexander took another drag from the cigarette before flicking it into the ashtray. He turned fully to face Adrian, his tone calm but firm. "Let me tell you something, mate. Joi's been through hell, yeah? But you're the one person she trusts to stand beside her. You don't need to have all the answers. Sometimes just being there is enough."
Adrian's jaw tightened, his mind racing.
"You're not her savior, Adrian," Alexander continued, his voice softening. "You're her anchor. And anchors don't pull—they hold steady. That's what she needs from you."
The words settled over Adrian like a heavy weight, yet somehow, they brought clarity.
Alexander smirked faintly, leaning back against the railing. "For what it's worth, you're doing better than you think. Joi's still here. That counts for something."
Adrian nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thanks, Alexander."
"Don't mention it. But if you ever want advice on women..." Alexander's grin turned teasing. "You're on your own, mate."
---
Meanwhile, inside the house, Emily sat curled on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her as she scrolled aimlessly through her phone. She glanced up when Alexander strolled in, his usual swagger softened by the late hour.
"You're up late," she commented, setting her phone aside.
"So are you." He flopped onto the couch beside her, stretching out lazily. "What's your excuse?"
Emily smirked. "Couldn't sleep. Too much drama today."
Alexander chuckled. "Tell me about it. Though, I'm sure Adrian's keeping the real drama under control."
She raised an eyebrow. "And what about you? When's the last time you actually handled drama instead of running from it?"
He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Ouch. You wound me, Emily."
Her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"
For a moment, silence settled between them, comfortable but charged. Alexander's playful demeanor shifted slightly, his gaze flickering over her face. "You ever wonder why we're all still here? Sticking around for a fight that isn't ours?"
Emily tilted her head, considering his words. "Because Joi needs us. And because, deep down, we all need each other—whether we like to admit it or not."
Alexander's grin softened into something almost sincere. "You're not wrong."
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The gesture was fleeting but deliberate, leaving the air between them crackling with unspoken tension.
Emily's eyes narrowed slightly, though her tone remained light. "You're not as charming as you think, you know."
Alexander leaned closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "And you're not as immune as you pretend to be."
She rolled her eyes, but her smirk betrayed her. "You're impossible."
"And you're irresistible."
The banter gave way to a brief, shared silence, their gazes locking. It wasn't love—not yet—but there was something undeniable in the way they looked at each other, a spark neither was ready to name.
Emily broke the moment, standing abruptly. "I'm going to bed."
Alexander watched her go, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Goodnight, Emily."
"Goodnight, Alexander
---