That Friday, Ivy didn’t speak much.

She boarded the train with her hood up and sunglasses on, even though it was cloudy. She sat by the window but didn’t look out. Her hands were clenched in her lap, knuckles pale.

James didn’t ask at first. He just sat beside her instead of across, close enough that their arms almost touched.

“I brought you something,” he said quietly, pulling a small, wrapped object from his backpack.

Ivy looked at it like it might bite her. “What is it?”

“New journal,” he said. “It’s ugly as hell. I thought maybe you’d like that.”

She opened it slowly. The cover was mustard yellow with a crooked frog wearing a crown. She let out a small, broken laugh.

“It’s horrible,” she whispered.

“Right? Perfect.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time. James thought maybe that would be the end of it.

But then she whispered, “Do you ever feel like… you’re waiting to be saved from something, and you don’t even know what it is?”

James turned toward her. “Yeah. More than I want to admit.”

Her voice trembled when she spoke next. “My dad—he’s not like how dads are supposed to be.”

James froze.

She kept going, eyes still on the back of the seat in front of her. “When I was gone that week? He slammed a door on my hand. Said it was an accident. Said I should’ve moved faster.” She took a shaky breath. “It wasn’t the first time. It won’t be the last.”

James’s fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palm. “Ivy…”

She looked at him. The sunglasses were off now. Her eyes weren’t just sad—they were scared.

“I don’t know how to leave,” she said. “I don’t know where I’d go.”

James didn’t say anything dumb like you can stay with me or it’ll be okay. Instead, he did something better.

He opened the new journal to the first page and wrote one word in it.

“Start.”

He handed her the pen.

Ivy stared at the page, then at him. Slowly, she took the pen, hands trembling.

And then she wrote the second word—

Again