“I don’t need your help,” I snap, sharper than I mean to be—but I don’t stop. “I’ll figure it out. Like I always do. I don’t need you.”
His shoulders tighten, just enough to show it lands. He doesn’t turn. Just gives a small nod and steps out, Max trailing behind him. The door clicks shut, quiet and final.
The moment they’re gone, everything breaks loose. Tears spill fast, hot and unstoppable. I press my hands to my face, like I can force it back down, shove it somewhere it won’t hurt.
But it’s already too late.
I curl onto my side, ignoring the pain that shoots through my shoulder and the sting in my bandaged feet. The hospital sheet is rough against my cheek as I sob, ugly and raw, the sound muffled against my pillow.
I cry for Dad’s truck, for the equipment I’ll never replace, for the last physical pieces of him now twisted into scrap. I cry for the strangers who didn’t make it through the night, for Max—who lost one home and almost lost another—and for what I just did to Jonah, who carried me through debris and made sure I was safe.
Time loses shape. I don’t know how long I lie there, crying until my throat aches and my face burns. Eventually, there’s nothing left. The tears stop, leaving me hollow. I stare at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights humming softly above, shadows shifting as people pass outside the door.
I close my eyes, replaying the words I threw at Jonah. They weren’t fair. None of this was his fault—not the tornado, not where we ended up, not Dad’s truck. The universe doesn’t work that way, no matter how badly I want someone to blame.
I know that. Storm chasing taught me that much. follows its own rules, indifferent to everything we try to hold onto.
But knowing better doesn’t make the loss hurt any less.
A soft knock at the door makes my heart leap into my throat. Maybe it’s Jonah. Maybe he’s come back despite everything I said. I quickly wipe at my face, trying to erase the evidence of my breakdown.
“Come in,” I call, my voice raw from crying.
The door swings open slowly. I try to sit up straighter, ignoring the pain that shoots through my shoulder. I need to apologize immediately, before he can say anything. I need to make this right.
But it’s not Jonah who walks through the door.
“Lila!” Emily rushes toward me, her face a mask of worry and relief. “Oh my god, are you okay? I came as soon as I heard!”
I stare at her, trying to process her sudden appearance. My little sister, who should be hundreds of miles away, is somehow here, wearing wrinkled clothes like she’s been traveling all night, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
“Em?” I manage. “How did you?—”
“Your professor called me.” She drops her bag and carefully wraps her arms around me, mindful of my shoulder. “He said there was a tornado, that you were hurt, and that you’d been taken to the hospital. Please tell me you’re okay.”
I let her hug me, even though everything in me feels hollow like something essential has already been scooped out, leaving only the shape behind.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
Emily leans back, narrowing her gaze at me. “You look like you got hit by a tornado.”
“I did get hit by a tornado,” I mutter.
“Okay, fair,” she concedes, brushing a piece of hair out of my face.
A weak huff of laughter slips out before I can stop it. Her attention drifts around the room, then back to me, and right on cue, her mouth curves into something mischievous.
“So,” she nudges my arm, “where is he?”
I blink. “Who?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replies lightly. “The attractive professor who’s rescued you not once, but twice. I figured he’d be glued to your side, feeding you ice chips or something.”
I groan, dragging my good hand over my face. “Emily, please. I just survived a tornado. Now is not the time.”
“And he survived it with you,” she shoots back. “That’s basically a rom-com setup. You don’t get to skip to the dramatic third act without warning me.”
“I’m not doing this right now.”
