He came at her one more time.
And swung the blade.
It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t clean. It was raw, desperate, survival-driven chaos.
Her hand jerked. The blade hit his shoulder. Blood bloomed fast.
He screamed. She dropped the knife as if it burned her.
I fumbled for my phone, dialling 911.
My voice shook, but I kept it steady enough. “Attempted assault with a knife. Carter & Sinclair Trauma Clinic. Send units now.”
Sirens screamed in under four minutes.
I thought I’d feel relief. I didn’t.
Because when the officers burst in, they didn’t see the man who had threatened us. The man who wouldn't have stopped had Remi not stepped in. They saw a woman with blood on her hands.
They saw Remi.
She didn’t fight it. Didn’t explain. Just knelt beside me, hands already raising.
“Hands where I can see them!” A sharp bark echoed in the room.
She obeyed.
The bastard who started it all was crumpled in the corner, crying about being stabbed by a psycho. And then I saw him.
The one who had eyes on the wrong person.
The one making the mistake.
Harlan Gray.
Police Chief. Ex-military. The town’s golden boy.
I tried to get his attention, get him to listen. But he was singularly focused on Remi.
He looked at Remi as if she were a loaded gun, as if she hadn’t just saved my life.
“You have the right to remain silent,” he said, calm as stone, pulling her to her feet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snapped, stepping forward. “She saved me! He came at me with a knife!”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at me. Like I wasn't even there, or worse yet, not worth his attention.
Remi met my eyes. Not afraid. Just… tired. Resigned.
Like this was how it always ended for girls like us.
For those of us who had seen too much and refused to remain quiet.
And something inside me cracked wide open.
No. No, we were done with that.
If this man thought, he was going to treat her like the villain in our story?
