Page 47 of North

Connor flopped onto the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table like he owned the fucking place. “Looks like she left,” he said, almost disappointed. “Damn. Would’ve been fun to see her cry a little more.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. I just turned on my heel and walked toward the gym, needing to hit something. Anything.

Victor followed, muttering under his breath as he scrolled through his phone. “Summer won’t leave me alone. She’s acting like I orchestrated the whole damn thing.”

I let out a bitter smirk. “Guilt makes people dramatic.”

Victor stopped, leveling me with a look. “You’re one to fucking talk. Did you have to be such an asshole to her this morning?”

The question made something inside me twist. I shrugged. “She’ll get over it.”

Victor’s jaw tightened. “You really think that?”

No. I didn’t.

But I didn’t answer.

Connor, oblivious as ever, chuckled. “Please. Summer is being dramatic. She thinks she made a friend, and that’s her own damn fault. Don’t worry. She’ll get over it.”

Will she?

The thought crept in before I could push it away.

And what if she doesn’t? What if this is the thing that ruins her?

But I wasn’t thinking about Summer.

I was thinking about Quinn.

About the way she looked at me last night. Like I had destroyed something inside of her. Something fragile, something real.

Victor sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “You’re fucked up, North. You know that?”

I turned to him, smirking coldly. “Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”

Victor shook his head, but there was something else there now—a crack in his usual indifference. “You don’t even realize what you did, do you?”

I said nothing. Just grabbed the boxing gloves from the bench, shoving my hands into them. I needed to hit something. To make this feeling go away.

Victor didn’t stop me. Just watched, his gaze dark and unreadable. Then he exhaled sharply. “If someone did that to my sister,” he muttered, more to himself than to me, “I’d fucking kill them.”

That made me freeze. “You know she’s not my fucking sister.”

He realized it the moment the words left his mouth. His own sister had been friends with Quinn. Had comforted her last night. Had been the one she ran to.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she deserved it,” Victor murmured, his voice quieter now. “I think we might’ve gone too far with this.”

My throat felt tight. I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Instead, I stepped up to the bag, bracing myself before slamming my fist into it, the force rattling up my arms. It wasn’t enough. I hit it again. Harder. Again.

But no matter how hard I hit, it didn’t change a damn thing.

Didn’t erase the image of Quinn’s face from my mind.

Didn’t make the guilt stop clawing at my chest.

Didn’t make me feel any less fucking hollow.

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