Chapter Three: What Slips Through Your Hands

Jalen had always known when something was off.

It was a skill he picked up early—growing up in a house where moods shifted like weather and silence usually meant more than yelling ever did. You learned to read the air. Learned to catch the pause before the storm.

And right now?

The air around Aire felt wrong.

She’d been moving different since last night. Quieter. Careful. Like someone already halfway gone.

Jalen sat in his car across the street from the house, engine off, phone dark in his hand. He could’ve gone inside. Should’ve gone inside. But something told him if he did, whatever balance they still had would crack wide open.

He watched the front door like it might give him answers.

Get it together, he told himself.

Aire was his step-sister. Period. That was the line everyone else saw—clean, clear, unbreakable.

But lines were funny like that.

You didn’t notice them until you were standing right on top of one.

He leaned his head back against the seat, jaw clenched. The image of her walking out that door earlier replayed in his head—how she hadn’t looked back, how her energy felt pulled somewhere else.

Not toward him.

That was the part that burned.

Jalen wasn’t stupid. He’d clocked the shift weeks ago. The distracted looks. The way she started guarding her phone. The way she came home carrying emotions she didn’t bring with her when she left.

Someone else had her attention.

And if he was being honest with himself—someone else always had.

But this time felt different.

This time felt permanent.

---

Inside the house, Aire moved like a ghost.

Jalen heard her before he saw her—soft footsteps, a door closing gently. She didn’t slam things when she was upset anymore. She used to. Now she moved like she didn’t want to be noticed at all.

That scared him more than anger ever could.

He finally got out of the car and went inside, the familiar scent of home grounding him just enough to breathe. Their mom was on the couch, half-watching TV, half-asleep.

“Hey,” she said. “Aire’s back.”

“I know,” Jalen replied.

He headed down the hall without another word.

Aire’s door was cracked open. Light spilled into the hallway.

He knocked once. “You got a minute?”

A pause.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I guess.”

He pushed the door open slowly.

Her room looked the same—bed neatly made, candles unlit, clothes folded just enough to look intentional. But she didn’t.

She sat on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap, shoulders tight. Like she was bracing for something.

That hurt more than it should’ve.

“You okay?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I’m fine.”

The lie landed flat.

Jalen leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

She looked up then, eyes sharp. “Do what?”

“Pretend.”

Her gaze softened for a split second—then closed right back up.

“That’s rich,” she said. “You’re one to talk.”

He huffed a short laugh. “Fair.”

Silence stretched.

Jalen watched her closely, every instinct on high alert. “You went back over there.”

It wasn’t a question.

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“You went to Nia’s,” he clarified. “Today.”

Aire’s lips pressed together. “How do you—”

“I know you,” he said simply. “You don’t hum when you’re nervous. You go quiet.”

She stood abruptly, pacing. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“You didn’t have to,” she shot back. “You’re looking at me like I crossed some line.”

Jalen pushed off the frame, stepping closer—but stopping short. “Because you’re standing on one.”

Her laugh was brittle. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” His voice dropped. “Because last night you smelled like someone else’s house, and today you’re walking around like you already said goodbye to something.”

Her breath caught.

That was answer enough.

Jalen’s chest tightened. “Who is he?”

She turned away. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

She spun back, eyes blazing. “Why? Because we share a roof? Because you think you have some kind of claim on me?”

The word claim hit him harder than he expected.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

Jalen ran a hand over his face. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” she demanded. “From living?”

“From getting hurt,” he snapped. “From falling into something you can’t get out of.”

Her voice dropped. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know enough,” he said. “I know you’re slipping away from me.”

The room went still.

Aire stared at him, something unreadable in her eyes. “Maybe I’m just growing.”

“And maybe you’re running,” he countered.

She shook her head. “This isn’t about you.”

That was the knife.

Jalen swallowed hard. “It is when I’m the one watching you leave.”

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t deny it either.

---

Later that night, Jalen lay awake staring at the ceiling, every sense tuned to the quiet down the hall. Aire hadn’t come out again. No midnight snack. No pacing. No soft music playing from her phone.

She was somewhere else—mentally, emotionally.

Maybe physically.

The thought twisted something ugly in his gut.

He rolled onto his side, fists clenched. He hated this feeling—this helplessness. Hated that no matter how close they lived, she was becoming unreachable.

His phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

He frowned, then opened it.

Unknown: She’s changing.

Jalen sat up slowly.

Another message followed.

Unknown: If you don’t fight for her, someone else already is.

His pulse spiked.

He typed back.

Jalen: Who is this?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared.

Then—

Unknown: Someone who knows you’re running out of time.

The screen went dark.

Jalen stared at his phone, jaw tight.

Whoever it was, they weren’t wrong.

Aire was slipping through his hands—and this time, he wasn’t sure love was enough to stop it.

Across town, Marcus Cole sat alone in his office, staring at a photo he hadn’t meant to keep on his desk.

And Aire lay awake in her bed, torn between two men she was never supposed to want.

The danger wasn’t coming.

It was already here.