The apartment is too quiet after the door slams. Even the city outside seems to have dropped its volume, like it’s holding its breath. James doesn’t try to fill the silence with words. He just keeps me pressed against his chest, one hand stroking slow lines up and down my spine until the shaking eases. When I finally pull back, his eyes are steady, but there’s guilt flickering behind them. “I should go after him,” I whisper. James nods once. “You should.” He lets me go without hesitation, even reaches for his discarded t-shirt on the floor and hands it to me so I don’t have to walk through his apartment naked. I pull it over my head; it smells like him and it makes my throat tighten again. I find my dress crumpled by the couch, my phone dead on the coffee table. James is already in the kitchen, plugging it into a charger without being asked. When he turns, he leans against the counter, arms folded, watching me dress. “You want me to come with you?” he asks quietly. “No.” The word comes out rough. “This part’s on me.”