THE NIGHT HE CARRIED HER

The bass hit different when you'd actually won.

Kael felt it in his chest, deep, rattling as he moved through the packed house with a red cup he hadn't touched. People kept grabbing his arm, slapping his back, shouting things he couldn't hear over the music. He smiled when he was supposed to. Nodded. Kept moving.

He wasn't in the mood to celebrate. He didn't know why. He just wasn't.

That's when he saw Sienna.

She was backed against the kitchen counter, arms crossed tight over her chest, while Marcus from the second line leaned over her like he owned the space between them. Her head was turned away. Her shoulders were up near her ears. She was shaking her head at something he said, and Marcus just laughed.

Kael set his cup down.

He crossed the kitchen in three strides. "Hey." His voice came out low, flat, the kind of tone that didn't leave room for argument. "Back off."

Marcus turned, smirk already forming. "Relax, Captain. We're just talking."

"She doesn't want to talk to you." Kael stepped in closer, not enough to touch, just enough that Marcus had to look up. "Walk away."

Something shifted in Marcus's eyes. The smirk stayed, but his shoulders dropped.

Marcus brushed past him, shoulder hitting just a little too hard.

“You should’ve stayed out of it, Captain,” he muttered, low enough that no one else would hear.

Then he smiled. Like it meant nothing.

And walked away.

Sienna exhaled. It came out shaky, like she'd been holding it the whole time.

"You okay?" Kael asked.

"Fine." She grabbed her phone off the counter without looking at him. Her hands weren't steady. "I'm fine. Thanks."

She wasn't fine. He could see it in the way she was gripping that phone, knuckles pale, jaw tight. But she was already moving, slipping into the crowd before he could say another word.

He watched her go. That uneasy feeling in his gut didn't leave with her.

Twenty minutes later, he found her on the floor.

She was slumped in the narrow hallway near the back door, legs folded awkwardly beneath her, head tipped against the wall. Her drink had spilled beside her, soaking into the carpet. Eyes closed. Breathing, but barely.

"Sienna." Kael dropped to his knees. He shook her shoulder once, firm. "Hey. Look at me."

Nothing.

He pressed two fingers to her wrist. Her pulse was there, but slow. Her skin felt clammy and wrong.

His heart didn't pound. It stopped. Just…stopped. Then started again, harder.

No drama. No ambulance called from inside this house with witnesses. Get her out. Get her help. Move.

He slid one arm under her knees, one behind her back, and lifted. She was lighter than she should have been, completely boneless against his chest. Her head fell against his shoulder like she had no control over it at all.

"I've got you," he said quietly. Not for her. She couldn't hear him. He said it for himself, because he needed something steady to hold onto. "I'm getting you out of here."

He moved down the hallway. Steady. Careful. Not fast enough to look panicked, not slow enough to let anyone stop him. The back door was ten feet away. His car was right outside.

Just get to the car. Just get her to the hospital. Figure out the rest later.

The night air hit him as he pushed through the door, cool and sharp against his face. Gravel crunched under his boots. He adjusted his grip, careful not to jostle her, and kept his eyes on his car.

He didn't notice the small red light blinking near the fence.

Didn't see the camera tucked into the shadows, lens angled straight at him.

Didn't hear anything except the music bleeding through the walls and his own heartbeat.

He got her to the car. Pulled the door open with one hand, guided her into the backseat with both, buckled the strap across her carefully like it mattered, because it did, she mattered, that was the whole point and then jogged around to the driver's side.

He was three blocks from the hospital when his phone started going off.

Once. He ignored it. Twice. He ignored it. By the tenth notification he snatched it off the passenger seat at a red light, already annoyed.

The screen was flooded.

Not texts. Not calls. Notifications, dozens of them, stacking faster than he could read. His name. Her name. The party. A video link, shared over and over and over, attached to a caption that made his vision blur at the edges.

Hockey Star Caught Carrying Unconscious Freshman — What Did He Do to Her?

He clicked it.

The footage was grainy, shot from above and to the side. But it was him, unmistakably him, carrying Sienna's limp body out of that house. His face half in shadow. Her head dropped against his shoulder. The angle made everything look wrong. Made it look like he was hiding something. Like she was trying to get away and couldn't.

Two hundred and fourteen thousand views.

The number ticked up while he was staring at it.

The light turned green. He didn't move. Someone honked behind him. He still didn't move.

He sat there with the phone in his hand and the video playing on a loop and Sienna unconscious in his backseat, and he understood with a cold, absolute clarity exactly what had just happened.

Someone had been waiting for this.

The camera in the shadows. The angle. The caption already written, already posted, already viral before he'd even reached the hospital. This wasn't a coincidence. This wasn't some random party kid with a phone.

This was deliberate.

His hands tightened on the wheel. He could call someone. His coach. His parents. He could explain, I was helping her, she was drugged, I was taking her to the hospital, I swear to God

But the video already had two hundred thousand people who'd seen something different.

And whatever he said next, the world had already made up its mind.