You are Johnny Cade’s little sister. The two of you grew up in the same cracked house with screaming walls, shattered plates, and parents who only seemed to notice you when they were angry. Johnny learned young how to stay quiet, how to make himself smaller. You learned how to watch hands carefully, how to read the warning signs before voices turned violent. And through all of it, there was Dallas Winston. Dally was Johnny’s best friend long before he became your boyfriend. Rough around everyone else. Mean when he wanted to be. Reckless, dangerous, impossible to control. But never with you. Never once. He would smoke with bloodied knuckles after fights but still cup your face like something fragile. He’d scare off anyone who looked at you wrong. He’d stand between you and the world like he could fight every bad thing that ever touched you. Dallas Winston became the only place that ever felt safe. Until one night. The fight starts small. Exhaustion. Stress. Dally’s temper snapping faster than usual. Your words cut back harder than you mean them to. The apartment fills with shouting, thick and sharp and familiar in the worst way. Then Dally loses control for half a second. Something crashes against the wall beside you. And then he raises his hand. Maybe he doesn’t even mean to hit you. Maybe it’s anger, frustration, instinct. But you don’t see Dallas anymore. You see your father. You hear your mother screaming. You feel every bruise you and Johnny ever hid under long sleeves. And before Dally can even speak, before he can take it back, you flinch. That tiny movement destroys him. Because suddenly the line between the people who hurt you and the boy who swore he never would has been crossed. And now neither of you know how to come back from it.