The bar goes dead quiet.
No one moves.
I feel it more than see it—shock rippling outward. These men have seen me pulled out of smoke and rubble. Have seen me bleed and keep going. Have seen me stand upright when things were falling apart.
This?
This is different.
“She broke him,” Mark mutters, not quietly enough. His voice is thick with disbelief. “Jesus Christ. Fucking Sage.”
Dan exhales hard behind him. “That wasn’t just a fight. That was a psychotic breakdown.”
I don’t hear most of it. Everything is rushing. My ears ring. My chest hurts so bad it feels like pressure—like being crushed again, like being buried.
Tony is there without me seeing him move.
One hand comes down firm on my back—solid, anchoring. The other slides up, covering my eyes, holding my forehead like he’s trying to keep my skull from splitting open.
“Hey,” he murmurs. Low. Steady. “Hey. I got you.”
I sob harder.
He pulls me in then—no hesitation—dragging me up and into his chest, a full bear hug, arms locked around my shoulders like he’s bracing against a wave.
“I got you, man,” he says again, voice breaking now. “I got you.”
My hands clutch at his jacket like a lifeline.
“I’m calling my uncle,” Tony says, already shifting into motion even as he holds me. “I should’ve done this months ago. We’re putting a PI on her. Everything. Background, history, medical, the mother—if there’s a pattern, we’re finding it.”
He swallows.
“If she’s done this before, we’re getting a protective order. No debate.”
His grip tightens.
“I’m sorry,” he adds quietly. “I’m sorry, E. I should’ve pushed harder. I should’ve forced an intervention sooner.”
I shake my head, trying to speak, failing.
“We’re changing every lock,” Tony continues. “House. Storage. Boat. Cameras everywhere. Motion sensors. Don’t even think about the damage—insurance will handle that.”
I choke out a sound that might be a laugh or might be pain.
“It’s not the money,” I manage finally, voice shredded. “It’s?—”
My throat closes.
“All that time,” I whisper. “All that labor. I built that house. Piece by piece. My guitar. My peace.”
A fresh wave hits me.
“She destroys everything I love,” I say, the truth of it slicing clean. “Everything.”
Then—through the sobbing, through the chaos—another thought surfaces.
“At least,” I breathe, “at least she didn’t burn down Artemis.”
