“Based on?”
“You’re slipping mentally.”
Interesting.
Apparently panic attacks counted as “slipping mentally” now.
Good to know.
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t waste opportunities because you’re emotional.”
The line went quiet after that.
Not disconnected.
Just silent.
That was the thing about my father.
He could make silence feel like criticism.
“I have practice later,” I said finally.
“You always have practice.”
Then he hung up.
I stared at the phone for a second too long.
Across the room, Jace had gone quiet.
“Everything good?” he asked carefully.
“Yeah.”
Lie.
But everybody let me have it anyway.
That was the unspoken rule with our group:
if someone said they were fine, you didn’t push unless they broke first.
I stood abruptly.
“Need coffee.”
“Need therapy,” Niko muttered from the kitchen.
“Need you to shut the fuck up.”
The apartment erupted into noise again while I grabbed my hoodie and keys off the counter.
I needed air.
Movement.
