Jordan wasn't hiding.

Not really.

He was slumped on the rooftop of the Musketeers' base, hoodie pulled low, the cold night air biting at his skin.

The bottle sat beside him untouched now, forgotten.

He heard the door creak open.

Footsteps. Heavy. Familiar.

Jordan stiffened automatically, muscles locking up like a dog cornered.

Waiting for the punch.

The lecture.

The blow he deserved.

He didn't turn. Didn't have to.

Sky Matthews dropped down next to him without a word, sitting cross-legged, elbows resting on his knees.

For a long time, neither of them said anything.

Jordan's hands stayed curled into fists.

"Come to kill me?" Jordan muttered without looking at him.

The words came out sharper than he meant.

Sky snorted. "Please. I'm not walking into a murder charge because you're dramatic."

Jordan huffed out a breath not quite a laugh, not quite anything.

Still, he stayed braced. Waiting.

Sky didn't rise to it.

He just sat there, casual, like they had all the time in the world.

After a minute, Jordan cracked.

The words slipped out raw.

"Why not you?"

Sky turned his head, brows raising. "What?"

Jordan swallowed hard. "You wouldn't have hurt her. You would've been better."

For a second, Sky didn't speak.

Then he let out a dry laugh, short and sharp. "You think I'm some kind of saint?"

Jordan didn't answer.

The city buzzed beneath them, distant and cold.

Sky leaned back on his palms, looking up at the stars littered across the black sky.

"I met Arya when we were twelve," Sky said eventually. "We were both already messed up. But we laughed. We made it work."

Jordan still didn't move.

"But fifteen... fifteen was when it all went sideways."

⸻

Sky remembered it like it was still happening.

The party.

The drinks.

The feeling of losing himself and not even caring.

And Arya, fifteen and furious and breaking apart shoved into a world that didn't know how to hold someone like her.

Someone could've hurt her that night.

Someone almost did.

Sky remembered the sick, cold feeling that flooded him.

And he made a promise, right then.

He wouldn't be another mistake.

Wouldn't be another hand pulling her under.

He'd be her brother. Her shield.

Family, real family, when the world hadn't given her any.

No questions. No conditions. No expectations.

⸻

"I made her a promise," Sky said, voice low. "That I'd love her the way she deserved. No strings. No agenda."

Jordan's chest felt like it might cave in. "You still do," he said quietly.

Sky shrugged, a little helpless. "But you..." he said. "You love her different."

Jordan squeezed his eyes shut, pain slamming through him.

"I broke her."

"You made a mistake," Sky corrected, firm. "A big one, sure. But if you didn't love her really love her you wouldn't be sitting here hating yourself right now."

Jordan pressed his palms into his face.

He felt like he was splintering apart.

Sky stood and dusted off his jeans.

He looked down at Jordan, softer now.

"You still have a choice," Sky said. "Fight for her. Or don't. But she's still fighting for you."

Jordan looked up, throat burning.

Sky just clapped a solid hand on his shoulder and walked away leaving Jordan alone, heart breaking wide open, and for the first time in days, something like hope cutting through the wreckage.