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“It looks so bad.”

“It just looks like you need some help to finish it,” I tell him calmly. “We can fix it.” I hold out my hand for the scissors, and he gives them to me. “I’m going to cut the rest to even it out, then we can go back to the house. There we will shave it, so it looks good.”

He turns his head toward me. His eyes are red, and he looks exhausted. “You know how to cut hair?”

“I have been cutting my own hair since I was sixteen, and I can’t make it look any worse.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”

“Sit still,” I tell him and shift so I’m kneeling in front of him. Then I work through what is left, carefully cutting it down to his scalp as close as I can.

“I scared Brawley,” he says quietly.

“Brawley is fine. He is looking for you now.”

“That’s what I mean,” Vero says. “He doesn’t get scared.”

I keep cutting his hair, remaining silent. He doesn’t need me to fill the space; he just needs me to be here.

“I hate feeling like this,” he says after a while.

“Does it happen a lot?”

“Enough that everyone knows the drill,” he replies, “but not enough that I stop feeling bad. Sometimes I just need it to stop. The noise in my head, I need it to stop.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Just okay . . .? I don’t scare you?”

“No, it doesn’t scare me.”

He stares up at me. “Most people want to fix it.”

“I’m not going to fix it, but I will sit here with you until you are ready to move.”

I finish cutting his hair and run my hand over his skull, making sure all the strands are even.

“You ready?” I ask him.

“Yeah.”

We move out from beneath the stage, and I lead him out of the tent. When the night air hits us, Vero stops, tips his head back, and breathes. I stand beside him until he is ready to move.

Once we are walking again, Brawley finds us. He stops when he sees Vero, and something crosses his face—relief, maybe—but he shakes it off as he closes the distance between us. He takes Vero’s face in his hands and makes him look up at him.

“Ring, now,” Brawley demands.

Vero drops his head back and looks at the sky, then back at Brawley, nodding once.

I step forward. “He just⁠—”

“This is how we do it,” Brawley says.

“He is exhausted and needs to sleep. He doesn’t need you to beat the shit out of him.”

“Kayla.” Clay’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn to see he is standing a few feet back. “Let them do it their way.”

I look at Brawley and then at Vero, who gives me a small nod. I don’t fucking like it, not even a little, but if this is how they do things, I can’t argue.