Chase POV

I tried to stand, brushing snow off my jacket like the fall hadn't hurt, but the world tilted hard to one side. That dull, static hum filled my ears — the one I remembered from last time.

Skye was instantly there, gripping my arm. "Chase, stop. You hit your head."

"I'm fine," I muttered, pulling away, but my legs wobbled.

Zuma frowned. "Man, don't start that again. Last time you said you were fine, you were puking ten minutes later."

Rubble added, "Yeah, and you kept calling the nurse 'Mom.'"

That earned him a look from Skye, but it didn't stop the tension twisting in my gut.

Everest crouched down in front of me, voice steady. "Chase, you need to let my dad check you out. He's on ski patrol today — he's already on his way."

I groaned. "Everest, come on—"

"Nope," she cut in, shaking her head. "You don't get a vote. You hit hard."

Skye gave her a grateful glance. "Thank you."

By the time Jake arrived on his snowmobile, the group had gathered close. Even Tuck and Liberty, who'd stayed on the main slope, were hurrying over. Ella looked worried, arms crossed tight against her chest.

Jake hopped off, brushed snow from his jacket, and knelt beside me with his patrol bag. "Alright, Chase, how's the world looking? Any double vision?"

I blinked hard, squinting up at the white glare. "Just bright. Everything's... bright."

"Dizzy?"

"Yeah, a little."

He clicked a light across my pupils, his expression softening when I winced. "You're lucky, kid. No signs of a full concussion, but that fall wasn't light. You're done for the day. No arguments."

Skye folded her arms. "See? Told you so."

I sighed. "You always do."

Behind us, Rubble and Rocky had collected our scattered boards, and Zuma was quietly cursing Jet's name under his breath. Gasket hovered farther away near the lifts, wringing her hands before finally walking off — guilt clear even from a distance.

Jake stood, brushing snow from his knees. "You've got good friends, Chase. Let them take care of you."

Everest smiled faintly. "Don't worry, Dad. We've got him."

He nodded. "I know you do."

As we gathered our things and started the slow walk toward the lodge, I caught one last glimpse of the ridge line. The trees swayed in the wind, the sky starting to turn gray with evening.

Jet was gone — but the damage he left behind wasn't.

Skye's hand brushed mine, grounding me. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I lied softly. "Just tired."

But as we reached the bottom of the slope, I knew this wasn't the last time Jet would cross that line.
And next time, someone might not walk away.

We didn't stick around after that.
None of us felt like pretending the day could be fixed.

By the time we piled into my living room, boots melting slush on the mat and the smell of leftover pizza already filling the air, the mood was... off. Zuma dropped onto the couch first, running a hand through his hair.

"Finally," he groaned. "No more kids. No Rita, no Azura — just silence."

Marshall laughed softly. "Didn't realize six-year-olds could terrify you."

"Spend a weekend babysitting and you'll get it," Zuma muttered, leaning back.

Everest and Ella had claimed the beanbags, Skye sat cross-legged beside me on the couch, and Rocky was at my desk, laptop open, typing fast.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Trying to figure out who this 'Copy Cat' guy actually is," Rocky said, his tone flat with focus. "Jet something. From Foggy Bottom. He's already got a record — vandalism, trespassing, petty theft."

Rubble frowned. "Petty theft? That doesn't sound like someone who just shoves people down a mountain for fun."

Rocky clicked another tab. "No, but there's more. He's been seen hanging around some small-time gang out there. The Red Jaws."

That made everyone go quiet.

Sweetie's voice broke the silence. "Gang? You mean the one that—"

"Sweetie," Roxy warned gently.

She didn't stop. "The one that killed Sparky's brother, right?"

I froze.

The room felt like the air got sucked out of it.

Rocky looked uncertain. "I... don't know. I just know they're active in Foggy Bottom. Flint was killed there, wasn't he?"

Skye shot him a sharp look. "Don't do that. Don't make it sound like some twisted full circle. Jet's a jerk, not a murderer."

Sweetie crossed her arms. "I'm just saying it would make sense. Sparky saw someone like Jet, lost it—"

"Really?" Skye cut in, her voice rising. "You think my boyfriend's a psycho?"

Sweetie flinched. "I didn't mean Chase."

But the damage was done. Everyone went still.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. "It's fine. She's not wrong to wonder."

"Chase—" Skye started, but I shook my head.

"No, really. We all do it. We're all trying to make sense of what happened. But Jet's not Sparky, and I'm not Flint's killer. Whatever's going on with him... it's his choice."

Rocky leaned back, sighing. "Yeah, well, I still don't like it. If he's connected to the Red Jaws at all, this could get ugly fast."

Zuma groaned. "Can we not do ugly right now? Can we just have one normal day before exams start?"

Skye's hand found mine, squeezing it lightly. "Normal's overrated anyway."

That earned a few tired laughs, but not much else.
We all knew it — the peace we'd fought for since the shooting felt like it was already cracking again.

As the snow kept falling outside, it was hard not to think: maybe Jet wasn't just some bully.
Maybe he was the start of something worse.

"Yeah, let's just study and stuff," Zuma said finally, flipping his pencil between his fingers. "After exams is the Winter Carnival, and I, for one, actually want to enjoy it."

Skye glanced over at me, her smile soft but tired. "I do too."

"Good," Zuma said. "So no more bully talk, yeah? We were trying to recover from a shooting, not start drama all over again."

That earned a few quiet laughs, and for a second, it almost felt like the air in the room lightened. Almost.

Then Ella looked at her brother. "Tuck, you okay?"

He didn't look up from the page in front of him. "Hm. Fine."

"No, you're not." She set her pen down. "You're doing that thing where you shut down. Talk to me."

"I said it's fine."

"Tuck—"

"Don't!" His chair scraped back hard as he stood, grabbing his bag. "Ella, just drop it, okay?"

Before anyone could say another word, he was gone — the front door slamming behind him.

The silence that followed was sharp and heavy.

Ella exhaled, rubbing her face. "I didn't mean to set him off. I just—"

Liberty touched her arm gently. "You didn't. He's just overwhelmed. He's got an appointment with my dad tomorrow." She hesitated. "Hopefully he talks to him."

Skye sighed, leaning into me. "Poor guy can't catch a break."

Rubble nodded. "None of us really can. But we're trying."

Rocky set his pencil down and muttered, "Yeah. Trying's about all we can do anymore."

We sat there for a long moment, the house quiet except for the hum of the heater and the faint tick of the clock.

Finally, Zuma cleared his throat. "Okay, so... no more heavy talk. Who wants to quiz me on math before I fail?"

It wasn't much, but it was enough to make us all breathe again — at least for a little while.

Tuck POV

I didn't even know where I was going when I left Chase's place.
I just knew I had to move.

The cold hit me fast, numbing the edge of everything — my hands, my thoughts, my anger.
Snow crunched under my boots, the streetlights throwing long, uneven shadows on the ground.

I hated when it happened like this.
One second, everything's fine, and the next, it's like the noise in my head flips on — too loud, too tight, too fast.

Ella's voice kept replaying: You're doing that thing where you shut down.

She wasn't wrong. I just didn't have anything left to say.

By the time I looked up, I was near the edge of town — the part with the old gas station that closed last year. The sign creaked in the wind. Everything else was quiet.

Or, almost.

Someone leaned against the vending machine outside. Hood up, smoke curling from his mouth.
I knew that stance before I even saw his face.

Jet.

He noticed me right away, smirking like the snow itself had brought me to him.
"Well, if it isn't one of Chase's little heroes."

I froze. "Not tonight, man."

"Relax. I'm just talking." He flicked his cigarette into the snow, the ember dying instantly. "You look jumpy."

"I said not tonight."

He stepped closer, voice lowering. "You think I didn't notice how you all looked at me today? Like I'm the next psycho?"

The word hit hard.

My jaw clenched. "You shoved my friend down a hill, Jet. What do you expect?"

He laughed, low and bitter. "That? That was nothing. You've all got no idea what real bad looks like."

I turned to walk away, but his next words stopped me cold.

"I heard about Sparky."

My heart skipped. "What?"

"Foggy Bottom's not that far, you know," he said, grin twisting sharp. "You think people like him just pop up out of nowhere? They don't. Someone makes them."

"Enough," I snapped.

He tilted his head. "Why? Hit too close to home?"

I didn't answer — couldn't. My pulse was hammering too hard.

Jet's smirk faded, eyes narrowing like he'd noticed the shift. "You've got that same look he did — lost, angry, waiting to blow."

That was enough. I stepped back. "You don't know anything about me."

"Sure I do," he said quietly. "You're one bad day away from being the next headline."

I stared at him for a long second — my breath fogging between us, white against the dark — and then I turned and walked away, forcing myself not to run.

His voice followed, echoing through the cold.

"Tell your friends I'm not done yet!"

I didn't look back. I couldn't.
Because for the first time in a long while, I wasn't sure he was wrong about me.

By the time I got home, my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

The cold should've helped — numbed me like it usually did — but the air felt thick, heavy.
Jet's voice wouldn't leave my head.
You're one bad day away from being the next headline.

I hated how much that stuck.
Because part of me... believed it.

The house was quiet.
Mom must've gone to bed already.
Ella was still at Chase's, probably studying or laughing with Skye and the others, pretending life was normal again.
Good. She deserved normal.

Me? I didn't even know what that meant anymore.

I went straight to my room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the pill bottle on my nightstand.
The orange plastic glinted in the low light — a reminder, a lifeline, a chain.
I wasn't even sure which anymore.

I thought about Dr. Saunders, about what I'd tell him tomorrow.
About whether I'd even tell him the truth.
Because how do you say it out loud — that someone looked at you and saw everything you're afraid of becoming?

The knock on my door made me jump.

It creaked open a second later, and Mom stepped in, hair messy, wrapped in her robe.
"Hey, honey. You're still up?"

"Yeah," I said quickly, rubbing the back of my neck. "Just... thinking."

Her eyes softened as she came closer, holding out my meds and a glass of water. "Don't skip these tonight, okay?"

I forced a small smile. "Wasn't planning to."

She lingered while I took them — watching, always watching — until I swallowed the last one.
Then she set the glass down on my desk.

"You sure you're okay?" she asked, studying me.

"Yeah. Ella's still at Chase's. I'm fine, Mom."

She sighed, brushing my hair back from my forehead like she used to when I was a kid. "You don't have to be fine all the time, you know."

"I know," I murmured. "But it's easier when I pretend."

That earned a faint, tired smile. "Get some sleep, sweetheart. You've got your appointment tomorrow."

She turned off the light as she left, the click of the door feeling louder than it should have.

I lay back in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of the heater blending with my heartbeat.
The meds were kicking in — soft, dull edges blurring the noise.
But the words still echoed, even as my body started to drift.

One bad day away.

I just hoped tomorrow wouldn't be that day.