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the storm had rolled in hours ago, heavy and swollen, pressing down like a weight on the roof. the windows trembled in their frames. rain slid down the glass like veins, lit now and then by lightning, by the soft stutter of power flickering in the walls. everything smelled like wet earth and ozone and burning fuse.
cain was already pacing when price walked in. her breathing came shallow and fast, chest rising too quick. her eyes were sharp and hollow, like something inside her had started screaming and hadn’t stopped.
“where is she?” cain barked, voice too loud for the room. too raw. “where the fuck is she, price?”
price shut the door behind her with a soft click. her hair was damp. her face unreadable.
“she’s upstairs,” she said, quiet. “she’s safe.”
cain laughed—bitter, teeth flashing. “safe. right. from me, you mean.”
“maybe,” price said.
that did it. cain’s hands flew up, raking through her hair, pacing harder. her boots thudded against the floorboards like war drums. her whole body was coiled. trembling. she looked like a match waiting to be struck.
“i didn’t fucking touch her,” cain snapped. “i was angry, yeah, but i left the room. i always leave the room.”
“this time,” price said gently. “you left the room this time.”
cain turned on her so fast the air shifted.
“you think i’d hurt her?” she snarled, voice cracking. “is that what you think of me now? that i’m just some rabid dog you keep around on a leash?”
“don’t twist my words, cain.”
“then say what you mean.”
the power flickered again. darkness swallowed the room for half a second, then spat it back out. shadows danced over cain’s face, and for a moment—just a breath—she looked inhuman. all teeth and fire and eyes that burned.
“you scare her,” price said softly. “you scared me.”
silence dropped like a blade.
cain’s lips parted. her hands opened and closed like she couldn’t decide what to do with them. there was blood beneath her fingernails. she took a step forward, and something in her shoulders twitched, like violence wasn’t just a possibility—it was a reflex.
“you think i’m a monster,” she said, voice too small now. “you really think i’d hurt her.”
price didn’t move. didn’t flinch.
“i think rage eats people alive,” she said, stepping into cain’s path. “i think you forget who you are when you let it have you. and i think love is not always enough to keep a person safe from the fire they sleep beside.”
cain’s hand twitched again. it rose, halfway between them. just high enough that for a breathless second, it looked like she might—
but price stood her ground. head held high, eyes steady.
“go ahead,” she whispered. “hit me if that’s what it takes. strike the one person who’s never run from you. see if it makes you feel any less like a ticking bomb.”
cain’s hand dropped. she backed away like she’d been burned. like her own body disgusted her.
“i didn’t mean—i would never—”
“but you could,” price said, softer now. “and you know that.”
cain’s breath broke. a choked, splintered sound. she turned away, fingers curling into the edge of the countertop hard enough to crack it.
“i black out sometimes,” she said, voice hollow. “i see red and i forget what room i’m in, who’s talking. sometimes i hear screaming and i don’t know who it’s coming from.”
the words hung in the air, awful and honest.
“i love her,” she whispered. “i love you. i’d rather die than hurt either of you.”
price moved then. slow, measured.
she stepped up behind cain and rested a hand on her back. gentle. grounding.
“i believe you,” she said. “but love isn’t a shield. it’s a choice. it’s what you do when the monster wants out and you choose to lock the door anyway, babes.”
cain’s shoulders shook. not with rage this time—but with something older. sadder. shame, maybe. guilt. the weight of too many rooms destroyed.
“i’ve spent years watching people justify their destruction in the name of love,” price murmured. “i won’t let you become one of them.”
cain turned, slowly, brokenly. her eyes glistened. “what are you saying?”
price stepped closer. cupped cain’s face with both hands, gentle but unyielding. “i’m saying this: if you ever lay a hand on her in anger, if you ever let that fury carve its name into her skin—i will not scream. i will not plead. i will not let you stay.”
cain swallowed hard. her lip trembled.
“i will still love you,” price said, voice shaking now. “but i will leave. and i will take her with me. and you will never see us again.”
cain’s breath hitched. she looked like she might collapse. price leaned forward and pressed her forehead to cain’s.
“come back to yourself,” she whispered. “before there’s nothing left of you to come back to.”
outside, the storm raged on. but in that quiet space between them, something shifted. a choice made. a door closed. and cain—bloodied, trembling, burning alive inside her own skin—chose to stay. chose not to run.
