(BLUE'S POV)
The second week after Mason's breakdown over Lucian—the one that left him trembling in my arms for hours, whispering that he'd never feel safe again—I finally noticed the first tiny crack in the walls he'd built around himself. It wasn't dramatic or sudden. Just small, fragile, and painfully beautiful to witness.
It started in the kitchen.
I was making pancakes, the disgusting smell of butter and syrup filling the apartment while I focused way too hard on getting each one perfectly golden. It felt ridiculous, honestly, but lately I'd been pouring all my energy into little things like that, as if making breakfast right could somehow make everything else hurt less too.
I was halfway lost in thought—mostly worrying about how Mason barely slept again the night before—when I heard his voice outside.
Soft. Careful. Almost uncertain.
"Blue… do you think Jake would want to come over?"
I froze with the spatula still in my hand.
