All of this had escalated into a far more dramatic scene than Scarlett had anticipated. She had a strong feeling Jason would eventually arrive—someone would undoubtedly inform him about Greyson's actions. The growing onlookers made the scene less like a tense standoff and more like a schoolyard fight.

"Crack," James said.

Scarlett's eyes followed Greyson as he flung a piece of equipment toward Jason, the metallic clang ringing out against the hollow walls. This back-and-forth had become the norm—an unstable game of cat and mouse.

Scarlett held the flashlight steady, its beam cutting onto the cracked concrete floor. Water pooled in the crevices, the trickling sound constant.

The cold bit at her cheeks; still, the water kept moving slow, freezing into mirrors of ice beneath the dim light.

"Will we actually get hydro back?" Scarlett inquired, standing near James.

"I don't know," he murmured, staring at the ground. "My laptop had most of the information."

She turned the flashlight toward Bella. The beam caught her wide eyes, flickering with the chaos around them.

Well, at least now Scarlett wouldn't be the girl who Luke would want to whip.

Nevaeh sauntered over, the crunch of her boots echoing the half-frozen floor with a smirk. "This was the mission?" she asked.

Scarlett angled the light downward again. Jagged cracks spiderwebbed through the thin ice, glinting like glass. "Better than freezing in the dark."

"Are you going to stop them?" Nevaeh asked her.

"Eventually, one of them will make a comment," Scarlett said, shining the flashlight directly at Greyson's annoyed face. He had sour lips as Scarlett arched an eyebrow. "Jason, if you're trying to make negotiations, it won't work. The Dauntless Leader doesn't want you to meddling with his evil plans."

"Crack," James said.

Greyson lunged at James, but Jason moved first. Blue light flared between his hands, cutting through the dark with a crackling hiss. The beam scorched the air, missing Greyson by inches as he twisted aside with a mocking grin.

The blast slammed into the wall. Concrete burst outward in a shower of dust and stone, leaving a jagged hole that opened straight to the storm. Wind howled through it, whipping Scarlett's hair and stinging her face.

"You burned the wall!" Esme shouted, eyes darting between Jason and the smoking damage.

Jason's face went pale. Greyson only smirked, brushing dust from his sleeve like it was nothing.

"We have to fix it!" Bella yelled from the stairs.

"Really?" Scarlett mocked. "Don't see a hardware store lying around."

Greyson sneered, stepping forward. "Jason can fix the hole he made."

No one believed it. The concrete around the hole had melted and spilt, leaving a scorched ring that only heavy machinery could ever fix.

The smell of burnt dust hung in the air.

"The ice has to crack slowly," James said.

"And if it doesn't?" Greyson folded his arms, his breath fogging in the cold.

"Then we lose hydro completely," James replied, glancing up.

Scarlett's heart hammered in her chest. No hydro. No water. No boiling. No thawing food. Just cold.

"Wait, no hydro?" Jason asked, stepping closer.

Greyson snapped his hand outward. Jason jerked violently backward as if hooked by an invisible rope, slamming into a concrete pillar hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling.

"Stop rushing around, you Speed Demon!" Luke barked.

A blur of movement flashed past him, laughing as Esme zipped up the stairs, her boots skidding against the metal steps. She glanced back just long enough to stick out her tongue before vanishing into the dark hall.

"Can't it faster?" Greyson snapped.

"If we push it, the whole building could collapse," James said.

Greyson's eyes swept the ceiling and bowed support. "It'd take heavy machinery to bring this place down."

"If we push too hard, the whole thing could flood or collapse," James warned.

"Then we'll push harder," Greyson snapped. "We don't have time."

Scarlett rolled her eyes. His impatience was grating. She'd rather let the process unfold slow and safely than watch everything explode in a rush to get electricity.

"So, you want us all to blow up?" Scarlett snapped.

"Is there a way to lessen the impact, James?" Greyson asked.

"You'd have to carefully hit it with the pipe," James explained.

Greyson's lips twisted into a sly, inward smile. He held out his palm, summoning the pipe with an invisible force. The metal hovered above the ice, casting a long shadow in the dim light. Slowly, he lowered it. A sharp crack split through the building.

Scarlett climbed the metal stairs, each step ringing out sharply in the large space.

At the top stood a boy wrapped in a strange golden glow, his skin emitting a faintly shimmer like highlighter ink under blacklight. He turned slowly, eyes wide with confusion.

She reached out, but as soon as her fingers brushed his cheek, he flinched and jerked back. Despite the glow, she could feel it instantly—low rank. Minimal threat. Harmless.

Bella stood stiffly at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

"If you want Jason to leave, good luck," Scarlett taunted. "Now be a good housewife and stay out of it."

She spun on her heel before Bella could reply.

As she descended the creaky stairs, she caught Bryce leaning against the railing, silently watching the scene below. Another low rank. His ability let objects pass through him, but only a few at a time. Not enough to matter.

She passed Greyson and leaned in. "Low," she whispered.

"This is taking too long," Greyson muttered, looking around the building. "I need something to melt."

Scarlett watched his idea flash before his eyes. She knew exactly what he had in mind. When it came to melting anything, there was one person who could do that.

"Are you still in the mood to fight me, Jason? Or are you worried Bella will get injured?" Greyson threatened.

Jason came staggering over, eyes narrowing. "I'm focusing on stopping you first," he mumbled.

This felt like before Greyson and Jason stopped the disappearance from actually happening. The two were fighting over who wanted control while the other was attempting to stop those plans.

"Well, I'm leaving whoever wants to," Nevaeh called out nonchalantly while climbing up the staircase.

"Andrew and Preston can leave," Greyson ordered.

Andrew opened his mouth to protest, but one sharp look from Greyson shut him up.

Scarlett watched them exchange glances as they turned to leave, silent and stiff. It was obvious: Greyson had no patience for someone injured or standing around.

She popped a piece of dried pineapple into her mouth.

"I'm leaving too," Bryce called out with a smirk. "Try not to kill each other!"

He didn't wait for a response, already moving go the stairwell.

Scarlett watched him go. He was another low rank with nothing to contribute—and smart enough to walk away before things turn uglier.

"We're doing this faster," Greyson snapped.

Scarlett stayed silent. Her gaze lingered on the jagged hole in the wall, its edges scorched and crumbling from Jason's blast.

Beyond it, the storm howled a furious blur of white and wind, swallowing the world outside.

Pushing forward now wasn't just reckless. It was suicide.

"With the temperatures now, that water will turn to ice," James remarked, staring at her.

"Why don't we listen to James and avoid freezing our asses off?" Scarlett snapped, looking over at Greyson.

"No," he said.

Luke strode over with a sadistic grin plastered on his face. Esme was nowhere to be seen, clear evidence he'd used his noodle arm on her up, leaving her crumpled somewhere down the hall.

"God wanted us to do that," Luke said.

Scarlett raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you become religious?"

"It feels amazing," Luke said, twisting his grin wider. "Gave me this arm."

"You sound like Eden when she preaches," Scarlett sneered.

"Your statement doesn't have an option, Luke," Greyson snapped. "These are my orders, not yours."

Luke was only useful to Greyson because of his noodle arm. With him failing by killing two people, Greyson refused to let him lead anymore.

She watched as he whispered something into Luke's ear. She watched that devious grin appear as he looked at Jason, who now stood with Jade.

"Let's have some fun, Jason," Luke said. He disappeared into the dark as she heard the whipping sound with a cry of pain.

Zane's body trembled as he yanked the scarf tighter. The rough fabric was stiff with ice, scraping his raw skin. His gloves had soaked through hours ago; his fingers were little more than frozen wood beneath the wet layers. The winter gear—coat, snow pants, thermal boots—felt like armour that had stopped protecting him long ago.

Above the trench, the wind howled like a restless beast, rattling the tarp stretched overhead. The thin canvas flapped violently, snapping against rocks and frayed ropes that barely held it in place. Snow whipped sideways, hard and fast, blanketing their shoulders even as they worked.

Zane crouched beside Xander and Yara, huddled beneath a makeshift tarp salvaged from someone's garage.

Trenches zigzagged across the former town plaza, now a maze of frozen mud, broken street signs, and hand-carved escape routes—defences against more than just the cold.

Conner leaned back against the dirt wall, lowering his mask. "How many more of these?" he grumbled. "I can't feel my hands anymore."

Zane adjusted the lantern; its pale yellow light flickered weakly against the icy walls. "Enough for now. We wait for Esme."

Conner climbed the frozen ladder with a grunt, snow crusted thick on his red coat. Before disappearing over the edge, he shot them one last bitter glance. He helped when needed, but it was clear he hated being in Simcoe. His complaints weren't even annoyed anymore. Just exhausted.

"I can't even tell what I miss more—food or heat," Yara muttered, hauling herself out after Conner.

"Heat," Xander answered through clattering teeth. "At least you can forget hunger."

Zane pulled the tarp tighter, weighing it down with heavy stones to keep snow and people from falling in.

He stood, brushing ice from his sleeves. "Infirmary time."

They stumbled through towering snowdrifts, boots sinking deep. The streets were unploughed; only tired hands and shovels kept paths open.

As they neared the church, he spotted Mark bringing out a body.

People died fast—first the coughing, then the tearing sounds, then silence. The snow outside hid the bodies, but everyone knew how many there were. Without heat or working medicine, the town was running out of time.

The infirmary smelled of vomit and decay. Warmth came only from pressed-together bodies and flickering lanterns. Three cots along the walls were empty, but weak moans and violent coughs never stopped.

Hanna slouched against the far wall, knees drawn tight to her chest, hair plastered to her forehead despite the cold.

"Emma comes back tomorrow," she rasped. "I need rags and buckets of vomit need to be dumped."

Zane stepped closer, voice low. "Xander, handle the buckets."

Hanna nodded slowly. "Thanks."

Starting fires wasn't an option. Everything was buried under snow or soaked through.

Zane knew they couldn't just wait in the infirmary while people froze.

"Yara, let's check nearby houses. Maybe we can find something useful," he said.

They bundled into a small truck, the engine coughing against snow-choked roads. Most homes were stripped bare—food, water, batteries—anything that could help had already been taken.

The front door groaned as they pushed it open, ice-laced hinges protesting. Inside, frost coated every surface, and broken glass crunched beneath their boots with each careful step.

"I found some rags," Yara called, her voice muffled.

She returned with five washcloths and a towel, tossing them into Zane's arms. Then she spotted a thick woollen blanket slumped over a chair. Without hesitation, she wrapped herself in it.

"These will help the infirmary," Zane said, weighing the cloths in one hand.

Yara tightened the blanket around her shoulders, her voice barely audible over the wind. "What about heat? Does anything still work?"

"Nothing works, except maybe a generator or a wood stove," Zane said.

"Wood stove?" Yara asked, tilting her head.

When he lived in the Yukon, they had one, but he wasn't the one who powered it. Mainly, people had fireplaces or an actual heater, but those options weren't going to work.

"What about fireplaces?" she asked. "Some houses still have them, right?"

"Most are electric and gas now," he replied. "A few houses might still have wood ones."

"If we fine one that works, maybe we could move the freezing people into those houses."

Zane shook his head. "We can't move everyone. Emma and Hanna can't keep running back and forth all day. And we don't have dry food. Maybe some matches or a lighter, but that's not enough."

"People used to burn books," Yara said. "Or Jason could help. He has that burning light."

"Maybe," Zane sighed. "But we have to think about what we have."

"We have snow and wind," she muttered. "Maybe Cindy could help us find a house with a fireplace."

Zane's face darkened. "She doesn't want to help."

Cindy had stepped back from the infirmary after Melany's death. Kindness gone, replaced with coldness.

"Jade and Stick are gone," Yara added. "Devon's sick too."

Zane looked at the blanket around her. Silence stretched. Outside, the wind howled like it wanted in.

They returned to the infirmary. Hanna accepted the cloths without standing, her hands trembling.

"It's a viral infection," she said. "Unheard-of."

This illness didn't just cause vomiting or violent cough; it made people cough up blood and their insides. Those who hadn't gotten a touch of Emma's power ended up having that happen.

"Any progress?" Zane asked.

"Most medication isn't working," Hanna shook her head.

They had to hope Emma would get well soon. It may not just be the medication working, but everything they're trying isn't.

Bryce hadn't exactly signed up to barrel through a deadly snowstorm with a bunch of randoms.

Chaos? That was familiar. He'd broken into buildings, snuck out after curfew, even pulled fire alarms for fun.

But this—driving headfirst into snowbanks the size of rooftops while the wind tried to rip the car apart? That was new.

"Why's he coming with us?" Nevaeh asked, frowning as Henry shoved Stick into the backseat.

"I'm talking to Greyson. He's not," Henry muttered, slamming the vehicle door shut.

Andrew whimpered, clutching his arm where the pipe had fallen on him earlier. Beside him, River sat in silence, staring blankly out the window, barely blinking.

Meanwhile, Nevaeh had Preston locked in the trunk because he was ten and he annoyed her.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Andrew asked through gritted teeth, his face drained of colour.

"Maybe," Bryce said with a shrug. "So, hitchhiker, what's your deal with Uden?"

River didn't look at him. He leaned against the window, eyes following the violent swirl of snow outside. He didn't blink munch. Didn't react much. It was like he was somewhere else entirely.

"Education system," he murmured.

Bryce raised an eyebrow.

Uden Academy's education system was supposed to be elite—whatever that meant. He never quite understood how that worked. He passed some classes, skipped class, and only showed up for gym or homeroom when he felt like it.

"Pretty boy like you would've gotten bullied," Bryce teased with a smirk. "And not just by guys either. Unless you fell into the 'druggie' category, like me."

"You quit smoking weed," Nevaeh shot back. "Hardly makes you a druggie anymore."

Bryce raised an eyebrow at Nevaeh, catching the way she studied him intently. Maybe she was trying to search his mind for his secrets.

If Nevaeh looked close enough, she'd see the truth buried deep inside his mind—he wasn't the only one out there like him. People who carried danger in their veins, the kind you dismissed at your own peril. Easy to overlook. Easier to regret underestimating.

"I'd rather keep to myself," River muttered, eyes glued to his lap.

Bryce looked in the rearview mirror. "Stick, you still alive back there?"

"Yes," Stick mumbled, not looking up.

"You've been moping about Vickie's death for months," Nevaeh said bluntly. "Maybe it's time you focus on something else."

Bryce didn't know Stick all that well, but he knew one thing—calling him "Stick" these days was more ironic than accurate. The guy had filled out. If anything, he was closer to a log now.

Outside, snowdrifts towered like miniature mountains, sharp peaks cutting into the dark sky. The wind howled, sending icy shards against the windshield. With every turn, the tires bit deeper, sinking into the white ground.

While Nevaeh rattled off questions to the others in the backseat, Bryce's mind drifted. Uden had always felt like a blur with rumours of hostage situations, a freak named Ashley made of acid, and people like him who developed powers.

He didn't waste time stressing over it. His parents were gone, food was scarce, and he had an ability to phase through walls or let rocks pass through him like they were nothing. It was just another part of his life now.

Before everything went upside down, he was just another delinquent who was caught smoking with his brother when he was ten.

His mom worked as an addiction counsellor; his dad worked at the power plant, though exactly what he did there was always a blur. He could never quite remember.

At least at Uden, he was surrounded by people who shared the same interest of rebellion, mischief, and the usual chaos. Stealing, pranks, and all the regular troublemaking filled their days.

But it was Emma who caught his attention. It wasn't just because she was pretty, but because their personalities were like inverted mirrors of each other.

She was shy, anxious, and always second-guessing herself. He was confident, impulsive, and the kind who spoke before thinking. But he found her endearing. Her quiet humour was subtle, the kind you had to catch, and he always paid attention.

Their friendship started with a simple English class project: pair up with someone and get to know them over the year. It sounded easy. Routine. But somehow, it turned into something more than just an assignment.

One day during the project, he decided to mess with her. He told her he hadn't done his half of the work that week just to see her reaction. Emma panicked, eyes wide, voice trembling. It made him laugh.

When he finally admitted he was joking and had finished everything, she stared at him, like she couldn't believe it.

After that, he wanted her attention. Not in the loud, look-at-me way, but in the way that made her laugh or panic.

She had a crush on Greyson, sure, but Bryce saw more than the anxious girl who kept to herself.

In science class, he "accidentally" knocked over their experiment just to see her laugh, and when she did, even for a second, it felt like winning.

The car slammed into another snowdrift and lurched to a dead stop.

"We're stuck," Bryce muttered, pressing the gas.

The engine whined, but the wheels only spun, digging deeper into the snow.

Andrew's voice shook. "Uh... anyone got a shovel?"

Nevaeh groaned, tossing aside a crushed bottle. "Of course not. So, who's going superhero on this mess?"

From the trunk, Preston piped up, "Stick can."

"I shouldn't..." Stick murmured, shrinking in his seat.

Nevaeh turned to him, eyes sharp. "This is where your redemption starts."

"Redemption?" Stick echoed, his voice barely a whisper.

Bryce doubted anyone could lift a car barehanded, under normal circumstances, anyway. But nothing about this world was normal anymore.

He'd never seen Stick's power in action, unlike Maverick or Eden back at Uden.

"I'll try," Stick said, then pushed the door open and stumbled into the snow.

The cold smacked Bryce in the face the second the air rushed in.

River reached over and slammed the car door, sealing in what little warmth was left. For a few seconds, no one moved. Nothing happened.

Stick stood before the car, hands hovering just above the cold metal hood, eyes shut tight.

Slowly, the car began to lift, inch by inch. Bryce's stomach clenched as it rose higher, but Stick's arms didn't waver.

Then, with sudden jolt, the car lunged forward, crashing through the snowdrift and scraping the icy ground beneath.

"Whoa!" Preston gasped, leaning forward, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Was that for real, or just the wind?" River asked, eyes still wide.

Bryce smirked. "Guess him being starved helps."

Stick climbed back inside, shutting the door behind him. "So... am I redeemed yet?"

Nevaeh grinned. "If we get stuck again, Stick's the one who's throwing us."

"Where exactly are we headed?" Preston asked.

Nevaeh smirked. "First, we drop Andrew off. Then maybe swung by Mark's place if Emma's not at the infirmary."

Snowflakes fell heavier as they approached a cluster of homes, the entire neighbourhood muffled beneath a thick blanket of snow.

Bryce was surprised they hadn't gotten stuck again. The roads were a mess, untouched by snowploughs, the deep snow making every turn a challenge.

"Are we there yet?" Andrew whimpered, clutching his injured shoulder.

Nevaeh let out a tired sigh. "Looks like they didn't bother clearing the roads."

Bryce eased the car to a stop in the middle of the street and killed the engine. Stepping out, the cold air slammed into him. He scanned the snow-covered neighbourhood, searching for any sign of life.

"We're here," Bryce said.

Nevaeh followed, arms crossed tightly against the cold. "Shouldn't Emma be resting? Not the infirmary, but her own place?"

The group moved through Mark's house, searching every room, but Emma was nowhere to be found.

Bryce tried to think of where she could be next, but his mind went blank.

"Okay, it's the house she shares with Esme and Jade," Nevaeh said.

They piled back into the car, bouncing over snow-covered streets until Nevaeh pointed ahead.

Bryce parked on the street, his boots crunching on the ice as he stepped into the dark house. He kicked off his boots, finding it easier to move through the house.

"Found her," Nevaeh called.

Bryce shuffled into the living room, his eyes landing on Emma asleep on the floor, wrapped in a blanket.

"Time to get up," he said softly. "You know the floor's freezing."

He crouched, sliding his hands gently under her arm and lifting her carefully. Her head hung low, bloodshot eyes meeting his gaze for a brief moment.

"At least sleep the sofa. Floor's no place to crash," Bryce teased.

Emma blinked, her voice hoarse. "Bryce? What are you doing here?"

"Andrew's hurt," he said.

As he released her, she swayed slightly, unsteady on her feet.

Andrew limped in, tears streaking his face as he clutched his arm.

Emma's hand briefly touched his shoulder before she pulled it away.

"That feels better. Stupid pipe," Andrew muttered, walking out of the room.

"Is that all?" Emma asked quietly.

"I'm staying. Nevaeh's taking the others back," Bryce said casually.

This gossip girl would just bother Emma being here, and Bryce hadn't spent much time with her.

"I'll hear the details," Nevaeh whispered in his ear.

Bryce raised an eyebrow as she walked out of the living room, heading out of the house with Andrew.

When the door slammed shut, Bryce turned his gaze back to Emma.

"It's late," she whispered.

"Teachers won't yell at us for staying up," Bryce said with a shrug.

Teachers at Uden Academy were quick to yell if anyone stayed out past curfew of 9 p.m. back in the dorms, lights out by 10. Three warnings, then detention.

But that didn't matter anymore.

"Shouldn't you be with Jason at the power plant?" Emma asked.

Bryce shrugged, peeling off his gloves. "Too crowded. I came back with Stick, Nevaeh, Preston, Andrew... and some pretty boy named River."

"You don't have to stay here," she murmured, sinking slowly onto the sofa.

Bryce shook his head. "I'm staying. Plus, walking back to Uden? No thanks."

Tears rolled down Emma's cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "People keep dying, and I'm not there when they need me. I'm so stupid for letting Greyson and them use me."

Bryce knew Emma was being used—not because of her powers, but because he'd seen how Greyson had been in love with Scarlett.

But, Bryce couldn't bring himself to tell her. It wasn't because he didn't want to, but he knew it would add to her stress. Besides, she probably wouldn't believe him anyway.

He was one of the delinquents who sneaked off campus, crashed parties, and pull stunts like buying alcohol with three others. Everyone on campus knew at least some of the trouble they caused, especially the Walmart incident.

Since he and Emma were just friends, he didn't want to jeopardize the one thing he had with her.

That's when things started to change—after Emma ended things with Greyson. Bryce wanted to be part of her healing, to support her somehow. But it felt like her confidence had withered away.

"You've got to focus on right now," Bryce said. "Especially with that terrible anxiety of yours."

Emma looked up at him through her bangs, her voice a trembling whisper. "I can't."

He gently lifted her chin with a finger, smirking as he brushed away a tear. Then he leaned in, close enough for her to feel his breath, just inches from her lips. Her grey eyes widened, and a deep flush spread across her cheeks.

"See?" he teased, pulling back with a grin.

Emma's face turned bright red as she covered it with her hands. "You surprised me," she mumbled.

"Can you stop overthinking just for a day?" he sighed.

"Maybe," she muttered, rubbing her tired eyes.

"Okay, let's get you to sleep in an actual bed this time," Bryce said, standing and stretching. "Which one's yours?"

Emma rose slowly, as she pointed to the first room. It was small, with faded yellow walls and mismatched furniture. A nightstand and dresser both chipped stood against one wall. The bed had a navy comforter and a plain white frame.

"Oh hey, a flashlight," Bryce said, picking it up from the nightstand and sweeping the beam around the room.

"It's just something I found," Emma muttered.

Bryce flickered the light back toward her face with a grin, and she immediately raised her arms to shield her face.

"Aha, I caught you," he teased with a smirk. "You're officially under arrest for overthinking."

Emma sank onto the bed. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

"Am I not allowed to?" Bryce asked, settling down across from her with a raised eyebrow.

She hesitated, eyes fixed on her lap. "I mean... theoretically."

Bryce paused. There were so many reasons he was doing this—not just the way he'd felt for months, but something deeper. She was alone. Her friends were scattered, off at the power plant or dealing with the sickness, while she was forced to rest.

"I figured you were like this," he said, presenting his hand to her.

Emma's breakdown left her feeling small and invisible, like the world kept moving while she stayed frozen in place. She couldn't shake the feeling that no one really saw her anymore.

But Bryce could always see her.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind. He snapped his fingers, unsure of how she'd take it but willing to try anything to distract her.

"Okay," he said, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping in a teasing whisper. "How about I sleep with you? Just for body heat."

Emma's cheeks flushed a deep pink, her gaze dropping to her hands as she nodded slowly.

When Bryce unzipped his navy coat, she furrowed her brows, watching him with a mix of confusion and uncertainty.

Bryce grinned, raising an eyebrow as he met her gaze. "Pretty sure if I keep this, I'll squish you," he joked lightly. "And I don't think you want to be a pancake."

Bryce reached from the soft blanket draped across the bed, but then something caught his attention.

Emma's eyes were welling up, tears threatening to spill over. He knew he couldn't fix everything or erase her pain, but he wanted to be there for her.

Instead of pulling away as she might have expected, Bryce closed the gap between them. He wrapped his arms gently around her, pulling her close to his chest.

Emma's body trembled as she stared at the fabric of his hoodie, her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears.

He pulled the blanket over them both, pausing for a moment to simply look at her.

"You can cry," he said softly.

Emma didn't hold back. The sobs came fast as she buried her face into his hoodie. Her body shook with every shuddering breath, but instead of pulling away, she clung to him tighter.

Bryce had never held someone through tears before—let alone someone he cared about. He scrambled for something to distract her for even a single moment.

Then he felt it: the pencil person in his pocket. He shifted slightly, pulling it out and holding it in front of her.

"Look," he whispered. "Macky doesn't like when you're sad."

Emma glanced up briefly, her tear-streaked face softening just a little before she buried herself back into his chest, her sob continuing.

Bryce just held her close, silently letting her cry, knowing she wouldn't stop anytime soon.

Were you surprised about Bryce's delinquent behaviour?
-Lexi