Cold water.
I turn the tap on and splash my face.
It doesn’t help.
I reach into my pocket again. More pills. I take them. Because I can’t sit in this. I can’t keep seeing that.
The number plate flashes through my head.
I need to tell them. I push away from the sink.
The movement is wrong.
Too fast.
The room spins hard enough that I have to grab the counter again, my vision blurring, my chest tightening in a way that feels off.
Not just the pills.
Something else.
Something worse.
I try to step forward.
My legs don’t follow.
And then everything drops.
Something hits my face. Hard.
“Zach, hey, what’s wrong with you?”
Jackson.
Close.
Too loud.
I try to open my eyes. They don’t stay open. Everything comes in pieces.
“Move.”
Lucian’s voice cuts through it. Not loud. Not panicked. Sharp enough that it lands anyway.
Hands are on me, dragging me back, pulling me out of the bathroom, my body heavy and uncooperative as they lower me onto the floor.
“What did you take?” Lucian asks, already going through my pockets before I can answer.
“Pills,” I manage. “In my pocket—”
He pulls them out, checks them, and something shifts in his expression.
“He’s taken too many,” he says. “This isn’t just a slip, this is deliberate.”
“Fuck!” Elijah snaps. “You fucking idiot!”
“I can’t...” My voice breaks. “I can’t handle it...”
