Page 24 of Relapse

“I was busy,” I snapped, louder than I meant to. It was more of a defensive mechanism. To try and get everyone to listen. To hear what I was trying to say. To stop twisting my words. I tried again, “It was crowded. Music, people everywhere. I can’t babysit everyone who walks through the door. Why not ask our guards?”

Blake studied me. He was taking a moment too long, analyzing my hands, my eyes, the twitch of nervousness in my jaw.

He knew. Maybe he didn’t know everything, but he knew there were pieces of this story that I was leaving out.

“Let’s go back some.” Richmond said with a sigh. “Where were you between nine and ten PM? Because you weren’t with your girlfriend.”

My eyes shot up to meet hers. She had an almost smug look on her face. Like she knew something that I didn’t. Like she just wanted me to fuck up. Just like everyone else in my life.

“Delane isn’t my girlfriend,” was the only comeback I could think of.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said with a sneer. “Date. Your date said you spent the majority of the party somewhere else. So…” She leaned in. “Where exactly was that?”

“I—” I tried to think of something to fill the awkward silence, but couldn’t. What could I tell them? I was handcuffed to a fucking closet rod.

I could clear both mine and Silas’s name in one explanation, but I’d be putting the entire Hansen and Thorne name under fire. I couldn’t admit to what I was actually doing, but lying about it only made this look worse for me.

Damian’s voice cut clean through the fog of my thoughts. I looked at him. His expression was calm, almost bored, but his eyes were sharp, reminding me of the plan. Anchoring me to the moment when I felt like spiraling.

“Take your time,” he said, softer. “You went upstairs to rest a bit and freshen up. You told me you weren’t feeling well.”

He held my gaze. There was a script there, offered to me like a buoy to someone drowning.

“Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “Yeah. I felt sick. Maybe I ate something weird. I danced with my mom and then went upstairs.”

“And stayed there?” Blake asked, pen in hand.

“I think so.”

“You think so, huh?” Richmond repeated with a scowl.

Damian exhaled slowly. “Officers, my brother has a history of anxiety and other issues, as I am sure you know,” he said. “Tonight escalated quickly. He is not in a condition to be interrogated further.”

“This isn’t an interrogation,” Blake replied. “If the Chief dies, it is a homicide investigation.”

The word landed like a punch.

Homicide. Not an accident—Murder. And they think I committed the crime.

I didn’t do it, my mind screamed. And wasn’t that ironic?

The room wasn’t just narrowing anymore. Things were tilting. Richmond’s face. The chairs. The walls. My breathing became shallow, and each intake sounded like a pitiful whistle. The air just wasn’t coming in anymore like I needed it too.

Holy fuck what…was happening to me?

“Noah,” Damian murmured, stepping closer. His hand landed on my shoulder.

“Look at me.”

I did.

“Inhale,” he said under his breath. “Slow. Count.”

I tried. Internally I sang the numbers: One, two, three. My lungs burned and it was taking everything I had to not give into the panic. Not to give in to the little voice screaming: You aren’t breathing—you’re suffocating.

Damian pressed his hand to my chest. “Do you feel that? My hand moving?”

I nodded.