The far storage room was dark. Dust curled in the thin beams of light from the cracked window. It smelled like mildew, blood, and old pain.
Sam found her curled in the corner.
Lilly sat against the wall; fists clenched so tight her knuckles were bone white. The note from Alyx was still in her lap—creased, stained, and trembling in her grip.
Her voice, when it came, was low and vicious.
"I'm going to kill her."
Sam stepped closer, cautious like the air might shatter.
"I'm going to rip her apart," Lilly hissed. "Make her suffer. I'll carve her name into the walls of hell and smile while she burns. I should've let her die I should've."
"Lilly—"
"I swear to God, Sam, if she so much as breathes near me again—"
Sam dropped to her knees.
"I'll make her wish she was never born," Lilly spat, her voice cracking like glass under pressure. "I'll— I'll—"
She didn't finish.
Because Sam wrapped her arms around her. Tight. Unyielding.
And whispered right into the storm.
"I'm not going to let Ava torment you anymore. Not again. No matter what happens, I'm here. Okay?"
Lilly froze. Her breath caught.
Then—
Like a dam collapsing, her body crumbled into Sam's. Shaking. Sobbing. Not the clean kind of crying—but the kind that tore through the ribs and left wreckage in its wake.
Her fists pounded Sam's shoulder once. Twice.
Then Sam just held on.
Sam didn't flinch. Didn't loosen her grip.
"You're not alone," she whispered. "Not ever again."
Lilly didn't speak.
But she didn't pull away, either.
And in that broken corner of a forgotten safehouse, two girls wrapped themselves around the ruins—and held tight.
Because love doesn't always look like roses.
Sometimes, it looks like rage.
Sometimes, it sounds like "I'll kill her."
And sometimes… it's just staying. Even when it's ugly.
Especially then.