AB

Y/N never thought she’d actually call the number Alex Cabot pressed into her palm months ago, the one scrawled on the back of a business card, Call me, any time, no matter what. But at 4:17 a.m., with blood dripping down her cheek and shattered glass scattered across the floor, she doesn’t know who else to turn to. Alex answers on the second ring, calm and steady even at this hour, and doesn’t hesitate to come. What starts as a cry for help slowly becomes something deeper, a quiet, unshakable safety neither of them ever expected to find in each other.