No one came here unless they had to.
And I had to.
I started my journey, each step another move away from the strange comfort I had found. I breathed hard, my body pushing itself to recover stores quickly. I couldn’t afford to be weak. Not with Finn’s life on the line.
I brushed away a tear before it could fully fall.
I never should’ve stayed that long, anyway.
My feet found the old routes on their own—instinctual paths through streets that once felt like the edges of my world. I passed the bakery with its boarded windows, the rusting sign of Mac’s Deli swaying slightly in the wind. Malar Square loomed ahead, empty now, the market stalls long packed down. But the ghosts lingered. Leftover scraps from the day’s trade scattered like memories refusing to fade.
Then I saw it.
The old school.
Its roof had half-collapsed since I’d last come this way. Vines now strangled the cracked brick walls, and part of the front steps had caved in—but I knew it. Every line. Every shadow.
I stepped inside.
Dust coated everything. The air was cold and still, like the building itself had been holding its breath.
And there—in the corner of the old floorboards, behind shattered shelves and broken desks—our bed still remained. Blankets, faded and ragged, stuffed into a pile. His books were still scattered across the floor, some damp and curling at the edges. A broken bottle of medicine lay forgotten nearby, crusted at the rim. It was a place stopped in time.
I knelt beside the makeshift bed, my fingers brushing the worn fabric. I let them linger. I could still feel the shape of Finn here—of nights spent curled against him, trembling and comforted. Of the warmth in his chest when I’d cried myself to sleep. Of how he always stayed, even when I pushed him away.
This had been our sanctuary. A ruined school. A blanket pile. Two people who refused to let go of each other.
He had saved me, so many times. And I had left him alone.
What kind of person does that?
My throat burned. I closed my eyes and let the memories wash over me, just once more.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “For leaving. For everything.”
I took a slow, steadying breath.
And then, finally, I stood.
I knew where I had to go.
And I said goodbye.
**
The Pit blazed like a fire in the heart of the Southside slums—the brightest light in a city built of ash.
As I drew closer, the streets grew louder, more chaotic. The crowd thickened, spilling out from alleyways and doorways like smoke. Men and women loitered on the corners, drinks in hand, laughter sharp and jagged. Somewhere ahead, a roar of cheering erupted—loud enough to rattle the glass in the broken windows. The sound carried for blocks. The Pit was alive and well.
Eyes followed me as I passed. Some wary. Some amused.
They could sense it—that I didn’t belong here anymore. Or maybe that I did, and it made them uncomfortable.
A few faces stirred old recognition. People I’d once worked with. Some gave me a quiet nod. Others smirked, like they’d just spotted a ghost and weren’t sure whether to run or laugh.
I ignored them.
The front of the Pit loomed ahead—an ugly slab of concrete and rusting steel, lit by flickering neon and the glow of a hundred restless souls. And there, guarding the entrance like a mountain carved from shadow, stood Jasper. His skin was ebony black, his dark eyes bright. He had muscles like a gorilla and little patience for those who pushed their luck.
