The drive home was blur.
Blake barely remembered leaving school. Barely remembered getting into the car. All he knew: the pressure in his chest hadn't gone away. If anything—it had gotten worse.
By the time he pulled into the driveway, the sky had darkened. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Parents not home. No lights. No sound.
He shut the car door harder than intended. The noise echoed down the empty street.
For a second, he just stood there. Staring at the front door. Breathing uneven. The thoughts hadn't stopped. They'd gone quiet. Waiting.
He stepped inside. Cold. Silence wrapped around him instantly. Bag dropped near the couch. Hand through hair. "Not now," he muttered.
The response came immediately—not as voice, but as thought that didn't feel entirely his.
'You can't stop this.'
He froze. Jaw tightening. "I'm not doing this tonight." Moved toward the kitchen. Pressure followed. Growing.
'You're losing control.'
He gripped the counter edge. "I'm still in control."
The thought twisted.
'Are you?'
Breathing picked up. Because it didn't feel like it. Not tonight.
"You're not real," he whispered.
The response hit harder.
'You know that's not true.'
He slammed his fist against the counter. "Shut up! "
Silence—then it came back stronger. Memories surged: the message, the park, waiting under the oak tree. Alone.
'They hurt you.'
"No."
'They lied.'
"Stop."
'Amber. Your parents. Everyone.'
He staggered back slightly. Chest tight. Too tight. "You don't control me."
The thought sharpened.
'I am you.'
Hands started shaking.
'I'm the part of you that survived.'
Vision blurring. "You're wrong."
But the thoughts didn't fade. They grew louder. More convincing.
'You know what she means to you.'
The name hit harder than anything else. Chest constricting painfully.
'Jade.'
"Stop."
'She'll hurt you again.'
"No."
'Hurt her first.'
He grabbed the sofa back. "Stop! "
Breathing broke. Because part of him—hated how convincing it sounded.
'You felt it today.'
He shut his eyes tightly. Because it was true. When Amber smiled at Jade—something inside him had snapped. Violent instinct to protect her. To destroy anything that threatened her.
'You want control. You want power. You want revenge.'
"I want peace," he whispered.
The answer came immediately.
'Peace makes you weak.'
Pressure in his head spiked. He dropped to his knees. Hands gripping his head. "Get out! "
For a second—everything blurred. Like slipping. Losing.
Then—something cut through.
Memory: the photo in his pocket. Jade laughing under the oak tree. Her voice—"Because you didn't leave me."
The pressure cracked. Just enough.
He inhaled sharply. Forced himself to his feet. "You don't get her." Rough. But steady.
The thoughts twisted again.
'She's the reason you feel like this.'
He froze. "What?"
Quieter now—but heavier.
'She's why it started.'
The house fell silent again. He stood there, breathing hard.
Because suddenly—this wasn't just about control. Wasn't just about anger.
Jade wasn't just important to him.
She was connected to all of it.
And that terrified him more than anything else.