TWELVE

GRAYSON’S POV

Thirty minutes slipped by, and little by little, silence reclaimed the space. The crowd thinned, footsteps fading until only the distant hum of the evening remained. Isabella’s sniffles softened, then stopped altogether, and somewhere along the way, my heartbeat finally began to slow.

By the time an hour had passed, we were the only ones left. I couldn’t hear a single sound from her anymore. The urge to turn- just once, just to make sure she wasn’t still crying- burned under my skin. But I stayed exactly where I was, unmoving, as if even the smallest movement might break whatever fragile calm we’d managed to find.

“Do your legs not hurt?”

My breath hitched for a second as her voice filled the quiet once again. It was clearer than it was an hour ago, no audible traces of sniffling.

“You must not have heard,” I didn’t turn around as I replied. “But I’m pretty athletic. I used to be the captain of-”

“Just go already,” she cut me off before I could brag about how I use