JJ
Stitch kept staring at me like the concealer had fooled everyone in the world except him.
I walked to my room and busied myself with my station because looking directly at him made the whole thing harder. I opened drawers, checked bottles I already knew were full, and moved a tray two inches to the left for no reason.
“JJ,” he said again, following me. “What happened?”
“Havoc and I had an argument.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
I stopped pretending to organize things.
“He hit me.”
The words came out quieter than I expected, but Stitch heard them anyway. His face changed instantly, anger settling into something hard and familiar.
“Last night?”
I nodded.
“What started it?”
I hesitated because even now, after everything, part of me still felt trained to protect Havoc’s secrets.
