In his particular chapter, there's a slight deviation from the book's flow. it unfolds as a series of montage mini-snippets, encapsulating the three months that have transpired. This is a 2 chapter in one type of scenario.

I had wrote a lot of the scenes to different music vibes, but I needed to create something to weave some time more fluid together without spending too much of a time jump on it.

So whether this chapter remains or not, I don't know, but take it for what it is. ✌🏻A collection dump of info that you need to know about 😬😬😬 #trigger warning red flags 🚩 right here 💁🏼‍♀️

>>>>>Early April >>>>

The daughter of Ezra stood at the edge of the dense forest, her breath clouding in the frosty air as snow fell softly around her. The ground was blanketed in pristine silence, but her heart raced with anticipation, pounding louder than the stillness. Her eyes scanned the shadows, searching for any sign, any sound to confirm her wait was over.

Then, from the darkness between the trees, he emerged. The mage, Vause, his form nearly indistinguishable from the shadows until the moonlight caught him. His hood fell back just enough to reveal his familiar face, and her breath hitched, her heart leaping in her chest.

Without hesitation, she sprinted toward him, the snow crunching beneath her boots as she closed the distance.

"Vause!" she cried, her voice breaking with relief as she threw herself into his arms.

He caught her effortlessly, holding her close, his embrace steady, grounding. He pressed a kiss to her temple, the tenderness of the moment anchoring them both in a fleeting sense of safety.

"Teshia," he murmured, his voice soft, filled with relief. He closed his eyes for a moment, thanking whatever gods were listening that she had found her way back to him.

But the relief didn't last. She pulled away, her expression shifting—uncertainty, regret, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Slowly, her hand rose, slipping beneath the fabric of her chest. Her fingers curled around something beneath her skin, and when she withdrew, they were holding two crystals.

Their faint glow cast an eerie light between them, illuminating the snow around their feet.

Vause's breath caught, his face falling as he stepped back instinctively, dread settling into his bones. His eyes darted between her and the crystals, recognition sweeping over him like a cold wind.

He knew what it meant.

"Teshia," he whispered again, this time his voice laced with fear, his mind racing through the possibilities of what had been set into motion.

The crystals pulsed faintly in her hand, the ominous light painting her face in ghostly hues.

>>>>> April >>>>

The office was oppressively quiet, the kind of silence that made every small sound feel too loud. It was Teddy who broke it first.

"I appreciate you keeping your end of the deal Toni," he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. His tone was straightforward, no-frills, but not unkind. "Showing up to these meetings, doing the work."

Toni shifted in his seat, his fingers tugging at his collar in a way that gave away his discomfort. "Like we agreed," he muttered. "I'll do the work. But the sleeping tablets—they're not cutting it. Every time I try to sleep, I'm back there. Same loop. Same nightmare."

Teddy set his pen down, tilting his head slightly as he studied Toni. "Back there," he repeated, his tone deliberate. "We've covered the afternoon with Matthew and Xero—the trigger. But we haven't gone into your childhood in detail. Not that night." He paused, leaning forward slightly. "As I've mentioned before, Toni, you're not as open about it as some of the others. It's one of your triggers."

Toni sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. His fingers fidgeted with his collar, an absent motion that betrayed the tension simmering beneath the surface. "Yeah, well... it's not like I'm not thinking about it," he muttered, his voice tight. "It's burned in. I remember when they came—chaos, hellfire, ash raining down, the goddamn screaming. Everything I knew just... flipped. Gone in minutes."

Teddy didn't rush to speak, his silence intentional. He leaned back slightly, watching as Toni's fingers shifted from his collar to his knee, tapping a restless rhythm. The quiet in the room stretched, coaxing more from him.

"It's hard to explain that feeling, Teddy," Toni admitted, his voice dropping into something quieter, more raw. He ran a hand through his hair, the motion stopping halfway as his gaze fixed on a point somewhere in the middle distance. "It's like I've been living in that same moment ever since. Like I never left it."

Teddy's pen remained untouched on his notepad, his attention fully on Toni. He didn't interrupt, letting the weight of Toni's words settle in the space between them.

**** 15 years Ago ****

The fire spread faster than anyone could react. Flames devoured homes and streets, the smoke turning the sun into a dim memory. The air burned with every breath, thick with ash and the stench of death.

Toni crouched in the dark cupboard, his small frame trembling as explosions and screams tore through the walls around him. He didn't know how long he had been hiding—minutes, hours—but when the noise outside seemed to fade, he finally crawled out.

Ash fell like snow, coating everything in gray. The town he knew was unrecognizable, its streets reduced to piles of smoldering rubble and debris. He wandered aimlessly, numb, his wide eyes taking in the skeletal remains of homes and the lifeless bodies scattered across the ground.

Then he saw her. His mother's body lay crumpled among the ruins, her face gaunt and drained of life. Kneeling beside her, Toni's fingers brushed her cold skin, his breath hitching as disbelief clashed with grief.

Nearby, his four older brothers lay scattered, their lifeless forms partially obscured by the ash and debris. He remembered how they had shoved him into the cupboard, yelling at him to stay hidden. They'd saved him, and it had cost them everything.

In the distance, shadowy figures glided through the smoke. The Reapers. Their skeletal forms seemed to blend with the destruction, their long, gaping mouths glowing faintly blue as they drained life from survivors. They moved with eerie precision, their hands reaching out to pluck the living from the wreckage.

"Toni?" A voice cut through the haze, startling him. He turned to see a woman kneeling beside him, her dark hair streaked with ash, her violet eyes intense. "Is your name Toni?"

He nodded, his voice caught somewhere in his throat.

"I'm Emmaine," she said, her tone clipped with urgency, though her violet eyes softened as they locked onto his. "We need to go. Now."

"I-I...?" Toni stammered, his voice barely audible as his trembling fingers clung desperately to his mother's lifeless form. The faint sound of sirens pierced the ash-laden air, distant but drawing closer—a chilling reminder that the evacuation was underway, and time was running out.

"Toni," Emmaine said, her voice steady but firm. "I'm sorry, but we have to leave now." She crouched beside him, her arms wrapping around his waist in an effort to pull him away.

"Get off me!" Toni screamed, his voice breaking with raw desperation. "GET OFF ME!" He thrashed violently in her grasp, his sobs wrenching free as his nails dug into the dirt, refusing to let go of the only piece of his family he had left.

Emmaine's face tightened, her jaw clenching as she held him. She didn't have the luxury of time or explanation. Every second lost was a life that might slip away, and countless other children still needed rescuing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, more to herself than him, before tightening her grip and dragging him back into the relentless chaos.

***** ****

"Then what happened?" Teddy's tone was calm, but his steady gaze probed deeper, waiting for Toni to continue. "Is that when you found Jesse? And then Richie?"

Toni nodded, his jaw tightening as his fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "After that... we managed to transport to the city where Jesse was." His voice flattened slightly, the weight of the memory pulling at him.

***** ****

In an instant, Emmaine and Toni were torn from the inferno, only to land in another nightmare. The town they arrived in was cloaked in an even thicker veil of smoke, the air oppressive and choking. Unsettling sounds filled the space around them—low, guttural moans mingled with the distant thud of collapsing buildings. Beneath their feet lay a graveyard of shattered structures and scorched debris, remnants of a once-thriving community now reduced to ruin.

Hovering amid the desolation were the Reapers, spectral figures that glided with eerie grace. Their tattered, shadow-like robes melted into the darkness, giving them an almost fluid, unnatural movement. Their elongated mouths emitted a haunting, bluish glow, faint but enough to illuminate their skeletal frames as they fed on the souls of the damned.

Their hands, thin and gnarled, reached into the wreckage with unnerving precision. They plucked survivors from the debris, draining their life force until only hollow, lifeless shells remained. These shells were discarded with cold indifference, forgotten among the ash.

Emmaine's grip on Toni's hand tightened, steady and unyielding despite the chaos swirling around them. Her violet eyes swept across the devastation, scanning for any sign of life. She froze when she saw her—a young red-haired girl, soot-covered and bleeding, her frail form slumped against the crumbling remains of her home. Her wide, vacant eyes stared at the flames licking hungrily at the walls, the fire casting ghostly shadows across her freckled face.

Emmaine released Toni's hand and knelt beside the girl, gently cupping her cheek. The girl flinched, her emerald eyes darting between Emmaine and Toni, terror etched in every movement.

"Jesse," Emmaine said, her voice calm and steady despite the storm raging around them. Jesse blinked, confusion and fear flickering across her face as Emmaine pressed her hand against the girl's abdomen. A soft, golden glow pulsed through Emmaine's palm, sealing the wound and stopping the bleeding.

Jesse's breath hitched, her eyes wide in disbelief.

"We need to go," Emmaine said firmly, rising and taking Jesse's hand. The girl flinched at the pull, her gaze still locked on the destruction behind her, her expression frozen with fear.

Emmaine turned to Toni, reaching for his hand again, but he recoiled, shaking his head furiously.

"No!" Toni's voice cracked, raw and defiant, the tremor in it a mixture of fear and grief.

Emmaine's expression hardened, her patience thinning as the urgency clawed at her. "Toni, I don't have time for this! This isn't a game," she snapped.

With a frustrated growl, she grabbed his wrist, ignoring his thrashing resistance and Jesse's frightened whimpers. The air around them twisted violently as Emmaine's magic enveloped them, wrenching them into another location. The transition left them gasping for breath, disoriented by the sudden shift.

They landed in a sprawling micro-city, its imposing grandeur still visible beneath layers of destruction. Skyscrapers loomed jagged and broken, their shadows stretching across rain-soaked streets. A relentless monsoon drenched them, the heavy sheets of rain blurring the wreckage and masking the blood and grime clinging to their skin. Thunder cracked overhead, reverberating like a warning, while the distant echoes of collapsing structures and mournful gusts of wind filled the void.

Emmaine straightened, her soaked clothes clinging to her as the torrential rain streamed down her face. She clenched her fists, her resolve hardening even as the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on her. Her sharp gaze swept the crumbling cityscape, her breaths shallow but steady. The shadows of broken skyscrapers loomed around them, and the distant cracks of collapsing buildings added a brutal rhythm to the storm.

Her violet eyes bore into the madness, "I can't lose another second," she muttered, almost to herself. "Not with them out there." Her gaze flicked to the shadows, where faint movements hinted at the Reapers still hunting. "We find Richie, then Matthew. No matter what."

***** *****

The silence in the room felt heavy, thick with the weight of buried memories. Teddy's calm voice broke through it, measured and probing. "And confirming again—you've never seen her since? The woman who saved you all - Emmaine?"

Toni shook his head slowly, his jaw tightening. "No. Nothing," he said, frustration threading through his words. "The others don't remember much about her either, but... we practically remember the same thing." His fingers tapped idly against the armrest, a subtle rhythm betraying his unease.

Teddy nodded, jotting a note with calm precision. Toni leaned back, his fingers toying absently with the edge of his sleeve. "So, sleeping tablets, Doc?" he asked, his voice carrying a mix of sarcasm and resignation.

Teddy paused, his pen hovering over the notepad. "It's a lot to carry, Toni. But like I've said before, we need to start moving you away from them. Controlling the memories, working through them—that's the only way forward."

Toni's lips pressed into a thin line, his silence stretching the air between them.

"What I need from you in our next session," Teddy continued, his tone firm but not unkind, "is what you're willing to tell me about your time in the orphanages. Neither you nor Matthew talk about it, and Jesse and Richie have only given glimpses. They're a little more to open with those experiences, but it's clear there's a substantial gap."

Toni's gaze drifted past Teddy, his expression distant as he stared at a point far beyond the office. His fingers tightened around the edge of his sleeve. "Yeah, well Doc, you've heard the rumors, read the reports," he said finally, his voice low. "You know there was an investigation after Allegiant was built. What do you want? Literally what are you after?"

Teddy leaned forward slightly, his tone steady but deliberate. "I want to help you confront the damage done," he said, choosing his words carefully. He hesitated, knowing how fraught this path could be, but pressed on. "I've read enough reports to know what happened during those years, Toni. Between the war and the instability that came after, the chaos that followed—the people it left behind, the systems that broke—it didn't bring out the best in humanity."

Toni's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt, his gaze still locked on the empty distance.

Teddy exhaled softly, the weight of his own concerns bleeding into his voice. "This generation, your generation, you were raised in a world... that is more fractured than any of us want to admit. But ignoring it doesn't fix it. It doesn't fix people like you."

Toni didn't respond, his fingers shifting to toy with his collar instead. His silence lingered, heavier this time, but not impenetrable. Teddy let it hang for a moment, watching the subtle movements of his hands, the tension in his shoulders.

"So," Teddy said finally, his tone even, "as we end this session, I want you to reflect on that. We'll pick it up next time."

Toni let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Whatever, Doc," he muttered, his voice low and edged with reluctant acceptance.

Teddy didn't press further. He simply nodded, watching as Toni pushed himself up from the chair, his fingers still brushing absently against his sleeve as he headed toward the door.

>>>>>End Of April >>>>

In the waning days of April, Toni and Charlotte stumbled into their hotel suite, their laughter dissolving into gasps as their bodies collided against the wall. The heady mix of champagne and the night's black-tie celebration lingered on their breath—a whirlwind of graduation festivities at Bjorn Academy. Their tipsiness heightened the urgency of their movements, their hands exploring, their lips meeting in a kiss that was all-consuming, fiery, and insistent.

They moved together like an unstoppable force, passion surging as they tumbled onto the bed. The heat of the moment burned bright, unrelenting, until it finally softened into the quiet aftermath of tangled sheets and heavy breaths. Toni lay still, the adrenaline fading, leaving only the faint thrum of his heartbeat as Charlotte rolled over to rummage through her bag by the bedside.

Her movements were frantic a bit, and when she returned, a small pill balanced on her tongue, her smile was calm but intent. Toni watched her, his cautious gaze meeting hers, and she leaned forward to kiss him again. Her lips were soft, teasing, as she deepened the kiss, her tongue brushing his. Then, with a gentle nudge, she pushed the pill into his mouth.

Their tongues lingered, playing in a slow, deliberate rhythm until she felt him swallow. Charlotte pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his with a warm, knowing glint as she brushed her fingers lightly across his jaw.

"Sleep, darling," she whispered, her voice soft, soothing. "The nightmares can't touch you when I'm here."

Toni's chest tightened as he held her close, her words a comfort and a curse. The ache in his heart was palpable—gratitude for her care mingled with the quiet grief of knowing these stolen hours were his only reprieve. As the drug took hold, he savored the fleeting calm that wrapped around him, a fragile balm against the looming darkness.

But even as his body relaxed, he knew the shadows waited for him just beyond the edges of sleep.

The room was quiet now, save for the steady rhythm of Toni's breathing. Charlotte sat at the edge of the bed, her expression unreadable as she watched him sleep. Her hand brushed his hair away from his face with a tenderness that didn't quite match the cold calculation glinting in her eyes.

Rising silently, Charlotte moved to the other side of the room and slipped a slim device from her bag—a sleek, black communicator. She tapped it twice, and a faint red light blinked to life.

"I'm getting him back on them," she whispered, her voice cool and detached, though her hand trembled slightly as she gripped the device.

The response came immediately, a distorted voice crackling through the communicator. "Good."

"He didn't fight back this time," she replied, her gaze drifting over her shoulder to Toni's sleeping form. For a moment, her eyes softened, and a flicker of guilt broke through her carefully constructed mask. But she knew the consequences if she faltered—they were so much worse. She had no choice.

"Good," the voice repeated, a dark satisfaction in its tone. "Do not deviate. It needs to look like an overdose. That he did this to himself."

Charlotte swallowed hard, closing the communicator with a sharp click. Exhaling shakily, she pressed her hand to the edge of the table, steadying herself as the weight of her compliance bore down on her. When she returned to the bed, her movements were slow, careful, as though she feared even the smallest sound might betray her.

Sliding under the sheets, she wrapped her arms around Toni, resting her head against his chest. He stirred slightly in his sleep but didn't wake. For a moment, she just listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, a painful reminder of his innocence in all of this.

"Sorry," she murmured, so softly it was barely audible. Her lips trembled as she added, "I'm sorry that you're just a victim in all of this. J-just ... I don't get a choice."

Her eyes stayed open long after his had closed, the guilt pressing heavy on her chest as she lay motionless, caught between the role she played and the person she couldn't afford to be.

>>>>> May >>>>

That night, in the middle of May, the world felt perfectly in order. They had been drinking freely, pleasantly intoxicated after a meeting with their wedding planner, Sooki. What began as a structured planning session unraveled into a joyous whirlwind of laughter and ideas, champagne flowing as inhibitions melted away. The warm haze of alcohol only amplified the pure, unfiltered joy of being together.

Jasmine, who had somehow joined them in the academy's cafeteria, leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with mock disapproval. "Oh, get a room, you two!" she teased, her voice light and affectionate as she watched Matthew and Eko dissolve into each other's presence.

Their public displays of affection, fueled by drunken happiness, had reached new, borderline embarrassing heights. But they didn't care. The world around them faded, and blissful oblivion took its place.

Jasmine's gaze shifted to Sooki, who was valiantly attempting to corral the chaotic energy swirling around her. The wedding planner's notebook was clutched tightly in her hands, a futile attempt to impose structure on a scene that had long escaped it.

"If you can," Jasmine said, unable to resist joining the mischief, "find the swans. We'll just put them in the lake during the ceremony."

Sooki's eyes widened at the suggestion, her pen freezing mid-scribble. "Swans? For the ceremony?" She hesitated for a beat, then a smile broke across her face. "I love it! Yes... I can totally get that organized!"

>>>>> May >>>>

The forest was a blur around them as Teshia ran, her breath coming in shallow gasps, each one visible in the icy air. The crystal still had been useless to grasp a hold of, its powers, though there, meant nothing if she couldn't control them.

Vause was just ahead, his movements silent and fluid despite the uneven, snow-covered terrain. His staff was strapped to his back, his hood pulled low, leaving only the faint glint of his eyes visible. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze locking on Teshia for the briefest moment. "Keep moving," he urged, his voice low but firm. "They're not far behind."

She nodded, forcing her legs to push harder even as exhaustion clawed at her. The night was bitterly cold, the snow crunching beneath their boots as they wove through the trees. The faint howls in the distance sent a chill through her spine that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

"Vause," she called out, her voice just above a whisper. "We need to stop—just for a second." Her foot caught on a root, and she stumbled, catching herself against a tree.

Vause was beside her in an instant, his hands gripping her shoulders to steady her. "We can't stop here," he said, his tone softer this time, though the urgency still pressed through. His eyes searched hers, flickering with both worry and determination. "Another mile. There's a ravine—they won't track us across it."

Teshia swallowed hard, nodding quickly. "Okay," she whispered, though her hand instinctively drifted to the pouch at her side. Her fingers brushed over the crystals, their faint warmth pulsing against her palm. "Do you think they can feel them? The crystals?"

Vause's expression darkened. His jaw tightened as he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the dark expanse behind them. "We haven't even been able to tap into their power," he admitted, his voice low. "I don't know. But we can't take that chance. We keep moving until we figure out what's next."

The howls in the distance grew louder, sharp and unnatural, slicing through the stillness of the forest like a warning. Teshia shivered, gripping Vause's arm as dread coiled tightly in her chest. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was small and heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry we had to leave the rest of the mages."

Vause slowed for just a moment, his fierce determination softening as he turned to look at her. His gaze carried both resolve and an unspoken tenderness. He reached for her hand, squeezing it briefly, firmly. "You are my life," he said, his voice steady and unwavering, each word grounding her. "They knew. They knew I'd follow you anywhere."

Teshia's breath hitched, but before she could respond, his expression shifted—warrior-like again, his focus returning to the path ahead. "But we have to keep moving. We need to reach the other mages. My tribe alone isn't enough to stand against Isis."

He released her, stepping forward to lead the way once more. She followed, her heart pounding, the crystals pulsing faintly in rhythm with her fear. The forest seemed to close in around them, the branches above like skeletal fingers reaching toward the stars.

>>>>> Middle May >>>>

"You think nothing of it," Sawyer whispered, his voice soft, contemplative, as he leaned back in the bathtub with Mya. The warm water lapped around them, cocooning them in a quiet sanctuary far removed from the chaos of their lives. Their discarded clothes lay in a heap nearby, forgotten.

"And then suddenly," he continued, his gaze distant, "you find yourself creating a moment that will stay with you for the rest of your life."

Mya turned to him, her eyes glinting with affection. "I think it's adorable that you're trying to help Eko with her wedding speech," she teased, her tone light but tinged with warmth.

"Have I ever told you," Sawyer murmured, his grin softening as he gazed at her, "how much I love the sound of your laughter?"

Mya giggled again, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. But as her lips lingered, his words followed, stealing her breath.

"I love you, Mya," Sawyer whispered, his voice steady but vulnerable. It was the first time he had said it, and the weight of it hung between them.

Mya froze for a split second, her heart tightening, her smile faltering as a crack in her composure began to show. "Sawyer..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, her gaze flickering with something unspoken.

"You don't have to say it," Sawyer said softly, his hand brushing against her cheek. His gaze was unwavering, tender. "Just know that I'd do anything to protect you and Mac-bear. Always." He paused, exhaling as though steadying himself. "But if we're going to do this, there are some things I need."

Mya blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with unease, her playful demeanor slipping away.

Sawyer leaned forward slightly, his expression serious now, though his hand still rested gently on her arm. "Boundaries," he said simply, his tone measured. "With Richie."

Mya's brows furrowed, her voice instinctively defensive. "Richie? He's... you know our situation is complicated, Sawyer. It's not as simple as just drawing a line."

"I know," Sawyer replied, his voice calm but resolute. "But... the relationship you value more needs to come first. We can't both have the same space in your life, Mya."

Her chest tightened, and her words came quickly, almost stumbling over themselves. "Yes, you can. He doesn't love me, Sawyer. We're not... anything like that. We co-parent, and that takes a lot to keep Mac first." Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke, a mix of frustration and disbelief.

Sawyer's jaw tightened, but his tone didn't waver. "He loves you, Mya," he said, his voice quiet but cutting. "Why can't you see that?"

Her breath hitched, the weight of his words crashing over her like a wave. She stared at him, her earlier joy now replaced with uncertainty, her mind racing. The warmth of the bath seemed distant, the tension between them turning the space cold.

"Sawyer..." she began, her voice trembling, but the words stuck in her throat, fragile and unsteady. Finally, she whispered, "No? He doesn't..."

"I mean it," Sawyer interrupted gently but firmly. His gaze held hers, steady and unwavering. "I love you. I love Mac. But I can't keep sharing you—not like this. Richie takes too much, Mya. And I don't think you realize it."

Mya swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of the tub as if grounding herself. The silence between them stretched, the unspoken weight of Sawyer's words lingering heavily in the air.

>>>>> May >>>>

Eko stood on yet another desolate planet, the rocky terrain beneath her boots a grim reminder of the relentless battles that had shaped her and Matthew's lives. The days blurred together—planet after planet, hunt after hunt. Each week brought them closer to their wedding, with late May turning into June, the promise of rest felt like a wandering dream.

Eko squinted against the harsh glare of twin suns, her focus snapping back to the here and now, today's target was a grotesque reminder of the enemy they faced: creatures tied to Xero's network, vile beasts that preyed on humans for profit. For Eko, the hunt was personal, but for Matthew, it was something darker, something more visceral. It was a reckoning.

She hadn't known the full horror of Xero's empire until recently, when one of Matthew's worst nightmares had dragged a piece of his past into the light. The truth, forced out in the aftermath, had hit her like a blow: the orphanages—the most brutal, dehumanizing ones—had sold children into Xero's network. Not for survival, not as a desperate act of war, but for profit.

It sickened her. But what haunted her most was the revelation of what Matthew, Richie, and Toni had done in response. They had been so young, just children, when Jesse was taken—too young to fully grasp the risks, too consumed by anger to care. Their rage had driven them to Creon, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. The rampage was chaotic, impulsive, born from a primal, desperate need to protect one of their own.

That's when it dawned on Eko why Creon and Xero struck such a visceral chord of PTSD for the gang. Why, when Madison forced them back to the planet, it dredged up so many buried demons. It wasn't just the horrors they had witnessed—it was the how. Creon was where they had first come to Xero's attention. Their blood-soaked defiance had marked them in his twisted eyes, turning them from nameless faces into targets. To him, they were nothing more than pests—locusts to exterminate—and Xero's thirst for vengeance hadn't dimmed over the years. He wouldn't stop until he exacted his retribution.

Eko's stomach twisted every time she thought about it. But today wasn't for dwelling on the past. Today was about the present. And Xero's network? It was going to burn.

The trap she'd set was flawless, her strategy honed to precision. She had lured the creatures in, their grotesque forms emerging from the shadows, believing her to be cornered. But Eko stood steady, her smirk betraying nothing but ruthless confidence. She had them exactly where she wanted them.

And then, like a phantom cutting through the night, Matthew emerged.

He moved like a force of nature, his blade gleaming as it tore through their ranks. Every strike was efficient, lethal. In seconds, the creatures' screams were silenced, replaced by the sickening sound of bodies falling to the ground. Blood painted the rocky terrain, a grim testament to their vengeance. Limbs scattered. Life extinguished.

Amid the chaos, Matthew's gaze found hers. His eyes burned with dark satisfaction, a flicker of something deeper behind them. Eko held his stare, and for a moment, the world slowed. She nodded, an unspoken promise passing between them. She understood far more than most about the monster buried in his bones—the one that stirred in moments like this. And she would cut down anyone, anything, to keep him safe, to put that monster back in its box.

As the last of the creatures fell, their dismembered bodies strewn across the barren expanse of Callista, Eko and Matthew stood together in the stillness. The air hung heavy with the stench of death, but neither of them flinched. This was what they had become: soldiers, destroyers, architects of ruin for the hope of a better future.

And then, in a flash of magic, they vanished.

>>>>> May >>>>

Drenched and exhausted, the couple sat under the scalding hot shower. Their clothes, soaked and clinging to their skin, were stained with the remnants of the brutal fight they'd just survived. The water poured down, steam rising around them, easing their bruised bodies as they leaned against the cold porcelain wall.

Jesse let out a breathless laugh, her head falling back against the tiles. "Well, that was fun," she said, grinning through her exhaustion.

Toni, sitting beside her, glanced sideways with a smirk. "Yeah, if nearly getting our heads ripped off counts as fun," he shot back, his tone dry but amused.

Jesse rolled her eyes. "Please, I saved your ass more than once out there."

"Oh, is that how you remember it?" Toni teased, nudging her lightly with his shoulder. "I'm pretty sure I was the one pulling you out of the fire."

Jesse snorted, turning to look at him with a playful gleam in her eye. "Right, because standing around looking pretty counts as pulling me out of anything."

"Pretty?" Toni raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the grin that spread across his face. "So you do think I'm good-looking."

Jesse groaned, swatting him lightly. "Don't flatter yourself,."

"Too late," he quipped, leaning in just slightly, his smirk teasing.

The water continued to cascade down, but neither of them moved to get up. The shared warmth and laughter made the moment comfortable, almost too comfortable. Toni's hand grazed Jesse's, just a brush, but it was enough to make her pause, her heart doing a small flip.

She caught the look in his eyes—something softer, unspoken, lingering just below the surface—and for a split second, the air between them felt heavier, loaded with everything they wouldn't admit.

"You know," Jesse said, breaking the tension with a grin, "your rescue skills could really use some work. Next time, maybe avoid getting us pinned in a corner with zero escape routes. What happened? Forget what team you're on?"

Toni chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back against the wall. "Next time, Jesse, maybe don't throw yourself into a death trap like you've got a death wish."

"I don't have a death wish,"  Jesse shot back, laughing despite herself. "But seriously, it was like your head was off in the clouds or something."

"I had a moment, so what?" Toni deadpanned, his voice softening just enough to reveal a flicker of something heavier beneath the humor. "It's not a big deal."

Jesse's smile faltered slightly, a pang tightening her chest. But she shrugged it off, keeping her tone casual. "Just saying, don't get cocky about it next time."

Toni laughed, the sound lighter now. "Cocky? Me? Nah, you must be thinking of someone else."

Their banter was familiar, comfortable. But as they sat there, shoulders brushing, the weight of everything unspoken between them lingered in the air. They were best friends, always close, always toeing that line. And though the pull was there, neither of them dared to push it.

Jesse nudged him with her elbow, a smirk tugging at her lips. "How're things going with Teddy and those sessions? Matthew's got me on hawk duty while he's off with the board. He's worried, you know. We both are."

Toni leaned his head back against the wall, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm okay," he murmured, his voice low, almost too quiet for the moment. "Taking it a day at a time. Thanks for checking in." He turned his head to face her, their faces close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath. His heart quickened, the tension in the air undeniable, but he kept his expression neutral, holding steady against the pull between them.

"And uh... your girlfriend?" Jesse's voice was soft, hesitant.

"Lottie?" Toni whispered, his brow furrowing slightly.

Their eyes locked, the silence between them stretching just a beat too long. The quiet intensity crackled, and for a moment, it felt like the air itself was holding its breath. Toni could feel his pulse in his ears, quickening, but he kept himself anchored.

"Yeah, her," Jesse said, her voice wavering slightly. "She's..."

"She's good," Toni interrupted, his voice steady but distant. "She's helping me manage this shit."

"Manage?" Jesse echoed, her tone soft but tinged with something sharper. "M-manage how?"

Toni exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. "It's nothing. Forget I said anything."

Jesse shook her head, her expression firm. "Manage as in helping you, or manage like Daisy did? Supplying you with those sleeping tablets and god knows what else!?"

Toni's head snapped toward her, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. "Fuck, leave it alone," he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. Jesse blinked, stunned by the sudden shift. She didn't have time to respond before Toni got to his feet, his movements stiff with frustration. Without another word, he flicked his wrist, his magic sparking in a sharp pulse, and vanished, leaving Jesse sitting alone in the silence of the bathroom.

"Oooh, what the fuck?"

>>>>> May >>>>

"As you know, we bounced around from orphanages to facilities and processing centers until we ended up in Allegiant after the whole massacre thing," Richie said, his tone deliberately casual, as though brushing off the gravity of his words. He leaned back in the chair, his arms draped lazily over the armrests, his posture relaxed, almost performative. It was the usual front he put up during these sessions, masking the weight of his past with an air of indifference.

The memories of that time were a recurring theme in Teddy's work with the group, but Richie always seemed the least affected—or maybe just the best at pretending.

Teddy adjusted his glasses, his expression serious, though his tone remained measured as he tapped his pen against the notepad. "That part of your lives holds a lot to process," he said evenly, his words probing but without confrontation.

Richie shrugged, his faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like an afterthought. "Sure, but we're surviving," he said, his voice laced with an edge of defiance. "And yeah, okay, what we went through wasn't exactly on the spectrum of 'normal.'" He scoffed lightly, the bitterness threading through his tone betraying the cool exterior. "But like I said—it happened."

Teddy's gaze sharpened slightly, the faintest flicker of concern crossing his features. "Surviving," he said, his voice calm but deliberate, "isn't the same as healing, Richie. The trauma you experienced—and continue to carry—shapes your actions and reactions, even if you don't fully realize it."

Richie's smirk faltered for just a moment, a shadow flickering across his face before he recovered. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "So what are you saying, Doc?" he asked, his tone a blend of challenge and curiosity. "That we're all just ticking time bombs waiting to go off because of the shit we went through? Or are we supposed to have some big epiphany and cry about it?"

He scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "Look, Doc, at the end of the day, we've all heard your spiel. But let me save you some time, yeah? You wanna know why things feel manageable now? It's not because of your kumbaya therapy circles or those little trust-building exercises you love so much."

Teddy tilted his head slightly, his expression carefully neutral. "Then what would you attribute it to?"

Richie's smirk returned, this time sharper, more deliberate. He leaned in, his elbows still on his knees, his tone lowering just enough to sound conspiratorial. "Come on, Doc. You know what he did."

Teddy's pen paused midair, his gaze steady and unreadable.

Richie's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and something darker. "You know," he said, dragging the words out like a tease.

Teddy cocked his head, his voice calm but probing. "Enlighten me so we're both on the same page."

Richie exhaled dramatically, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "Man, why you playing hardball with this? You already know the truth." His tone sharpened, the casual edge replaced by something harder, more deliberate. "Alright, fine. Let's stop pretending here. Matthew's the one who fucking killed them all, Doc. The massacre? The guy who blew everything apart? That forced the orphanages shut down, the reason Allegiant even got funding, the reason the Crown had to step in and overhaul the entire goddamn system. All of it? That was because of the massacre. And you know Cid knew. Come on."

Teddy's jaw tightened, but he remained silent, letting Richie continue.

"Anyway," Richie began, his voice more deliberate now, "what really made Matthew lose it? That was Jesse." He hesitated for a moment, something raw flickering across his face before his smirk returned, weaker this time, almost forced. "When Jesse went through what she did, it was like a switch flipped in his head. He just... snapped. And then, like that"—he snapped his fingers for emphasis—"he figured out how to transport using our powers. Like magic. One second he couldn't, and the next? He was gone."

Richie leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. "He disappeared for, what, a week? Maybe more. Toni and I couldn't keep up with him. He wouldn't stop. And Jesse? She can't tell you anything about it—because she was so high on the shit they pumped into her system, she didn't even know what was happening. She was completely out of it when it all went down."

"That's when she was kidnapped," Teddy interjected, his tone quieter but taut, like a wire stretched too thin. "Or sold into Xero's network."

"Bingo!" Richie said, snapping his fingers again as he leaned back in his chair, his grin broadening. "Now you're getting it." He let out a low whistle, his smirk growing wider, more deliberate. "Good times, right?" he added with a mocking lilt.

Teddy's pen paused mid-note, his steady demeanor faltering for just a moment. Richie caught it, his grin twisting into something darker, more smug. "Ohhh, shit," he drawled, dragging the words out like a taunt. "So that's what's missing. Matthew never mentioned that, huh? Not once? In all those little sessions of yours?"

Teddy's lips pressed into a thin line, his expression carefully neutral, betraying nothing. He met Richie's gaze evenly. "No," he said at last, his voice cool and controlled. "He didn't."

Richie's eyes widened theatrically, his mouth forming an exaggerated "O." "Oh, shit," he said, dragging the words out with mock innocence. "He's gonna kill me when he finds out I told you this."

"Then you might as well finish," Teddy replied, his tone calm but edged with a quiet authority that left no room for argument.

Richie groaned loudly, slumping back in his chair like a petulant teenager. "Do I have to?" he whined, drawing out the words as if stalling for time. "I don't even know that much, seriously. Just the basics."

"Richie." Teddy's voice cut through the air, sharper now, his tone a quiet blade that brooked no delay. "Continue."

Richie straightened slightly, the grin faltering from his face as his gaze flicked to the notepad in Teddy's hand. The usual glint of humor in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something heavier, something unspoken. He rubbed the back of his neck, his posture shifting as if the weight of his next words physically pressed down on him.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice quieter now. "But don't say I didn't warn you about what you're about to hear. Shit gets... dark."

The weight of the moment pressed down on Richie, his posture shifting as his usual nonchalance cracked, just slightly.

"Okay," he began, his voice quieter now, the humor draining from his tone. "As I was saying—he did some seriously fucked-up things." Richie's words hung heavy in the air, his gaze briefly flicking to Teddy before dropping to the floor.

"The kind of shit that would give most people nightmares," he continued, gesturing lazily toward Teddy's notes as if trying to deflect the weight of his admission. His voice carried a forced lightness, a thin mask that barely concealed the tension bubbling beneath the surface. "For us? It was therapeutic—insanely therapeutic. But for him?" Richie paused, swallowing hard before meeting Teddy's gaze again. "It was... on a whole different level. I've never seen him like that. Not before, and definitely not since."

Richie leaned back, his shoulders stiff, though he tried to feign ease with a shrug. A weak smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a futile attempt to mask the tension in his voice. "Teddy, seriously—you're telling me he never mentioned anything to you? Not a thing about this? Cid didn't?"

Teddy's expression tightened, his jaw clenching subtly as he carefully chose his next words. "The event itself is widely known," he said evenly, his tone measured but edged with something harder. "But the specifics? They're not. The reports omit the who—and certainly the age of the person responsible. They only reference deeply disturbing acts inflicted on those involved. Acts that—"

"—Were fucked up, yeah!" Richie cut in, nodding with disconcerting ease as though they were talking about something mundane. His casual tone, almost rehearsed, clashed with the gravity of his words. "It start with Axel," Richie's smirk twisted, his eyes gleaming faintly with something darker. "You've heard of him, right? Matthew and Toni must've mentioned Axel."

"Toni has," Teddy replied evenly, his tone calm but deliberate. "Matthew has not."

Richie's mouth tightened, his casual façade cracking just enough to let a flicker of tension slip through. His eyes, however, betrayed him—haunted and dark, carrying a weight he couldn't quite conceal. "Right," he said quietly, his voice tight. "Well, if Toni told you, then you already know what Axel did. Especially to those kids." He hesitated, his gaze dropping momentarily before shaking his head as if to dispel the thought. "Anyway, Matthew went for him first since we were under his care at the time. Skinned the fucker alive."

Teddy's grip on the pen tightened, his expression hardening. Richie's words hung in the air, heavy and sharp, starkly at odds with the casual tone Richie tried to maintain. "Skinned him," Teddy repeated, his voice low and measured but carrying an edge that was difficult to read. "There's no mention in any reports of someone being skinned."

"Yep," Richie said, popping the "p" with deliberate sharpness, his tone almost flippant. The dissonance between his delivery and the weight of his words cut through the room like a blade. "But then, that's probably not the kind of detail you put in a file."

Richie leaned forward, his voice calm—too calm—as though the weight of his words belonged to someone else. "Yeah," he said, the single word sharp, punctuated by a pop that felt unsettlingly out of place. "Matthew burned the body after—along with a few others. Cleaned up the mess." He shrugged, the casual gesture cutting through the room like a jagged blade. "But that wasn't the worst of it. Not by a long shot. It was just the first."

Richie's gaze darkened, his smirk fading into something grim and cold. "There was another guy in particular," he began, his tone lowering as if the memory itself demanded a reverence he couldn't quite explain. "This one? He was different. Made Matthew's life a living hell. This guy was always on him—like he had some kind of fucking fixation with him. Matthew fought back hard with him, then he was dragged off for hours, and he would show up later looking like he'd gone through hell itself." Richie paused, his expression tightening. "Anyway, when everything went down, the gutless coward took off. Disappeared. But Matthew found him, holed up in some rundown shithole of a town, hiding like the spineless bastard he was."

Richie's tone sharpened, the forced nonchalance peeling away as the weight of the story settled over him. "So what did Matthew do? He dragged him back to the orphanage. Right back to where it all started."

His words hung in the air for a moment, taut with tension that neither of them dared to break. Slowly, Richie leaned back, resting his elbows on his knees and he chuckled at the memory.

"Matthew made him beg," Richie said, his words deliberate and slow. "Right there. In front of the kids. Stripped him, tied him up, and dragged it out. Every second was slow as hell. Every fucking second. Matthew wanted him to feel it—wanted him to feel the same terror he'd put into all of them. The same pain. If the kids wanted to do anything, Matthew let them, it was a free for all."

Richie's gaze dropped for a moment, his voice darkening further. "You've gotta understand, Doc—this pedo? He fucking abused kids. Sold them off to Xero. Killed some of them right in front of us when they weren't 'useful' anymore, and fed their bodies to the youmas that used to lurk around back then." Richie paused, his jaw tightening as his eyes flickered with a restrained anger. "You think Matthew hated Axel? Nah, that sick fuck was the one he wanted dead the most. Sure, he never touched Matthew, but shit, he fucking hated him. You could feel it, every time they crossed paths."

Teddy straightened in his chair, his pen frozen midair. His gaze locked onto Richie, his face unreadable—tight, controlled. But his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper. Worry, maybe. Or was it dread? It was painfully clear, though: Richie still had no idea. Not fully. Not even after all these years.

"His name," Teddy said finally, his voice steady but carrying an unmistakable weight.

Richie scratched the back of his head, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to pull the name from a distant memory. "Urm... god, what was the pedo's name? Fuck... Tobias, I think it was."

Teddy's stomach dropped. The name hit him like a sledgehammer, confirming the fear that had gnawed at him since Richie started talking.

Richie leaned back in his chair, completely unaware of the storm brewing in Teddy's mind. "Anyway," he said, his tone casual, as though recounting an old story. "Like I said, Matthew took the sicko to the orphanage." Richie's smirk faded as his voice dipped lower, carrying a colder, darker edge. "And then? Then he got to work. That's when the skinning him alive part came into it, too. Tobias screamed for hours, Doc. Hours." Richie paused, his words deliberate. "By the end, there wasn't much left to recognize. Not that anyone cared."

Teddy let out a slow, measured breath, his fingers pressing against his temple. "And the children?" he asked, his voice taut, though his expression betrayed the tension brewing beneath his calm exterior. "They were there for all of it?"

Richie nodded, his grin absent for the first time, replaced with something heavier. His voice softened, almost reverent. "Yeah. Every second." He paused, his gaze distant as if reliving the memory. "Teddy... they weren't scared. Not of him. If anything? They were happy. You could see it in their faces. Relief. Like they finally saw someone do what no one else could. Someone who actually gave a fuck about them."

Teddy sat back slightly, his hand drifting to the bridge of his nose as he exhaled. His usual steady demeanor wavered for a moment, the weight of Richie's words pressing down on him. His voice was taut when he finally spoke. "And the others?" he asked carefully. "The ones who hurt the children in the orphanages—were they handled in the same... fashion?"

Richie leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his smirk faltering into something more subdued, almost grim. "The ones mentioned in the reports? You mean the really fucked-up bodies they found?" He let out a low, uncomfortable whistle, shaking his head slightly. "Some, yeah. Some, no. But let me tell you, when it happened at the place we were at? It started a rebellion. A wildfire among the kids. They saw it, and it spread—like something they'd been waiting for their whole lives."

He paused, his gaze flicking up to meet Teddy's, his voice dipping lower, almost reverent. "But seriously, Doc. Why do you think half the soldiers follow him the way they do? It's not just about who he is now. It's about what he did for them back in those orphanages. The older ones, the younger ones—all of them. He gave them something they never had before: someone willing to fight for them. To end the ones who hurt them."

Teddy pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly as he tried to process the mounting brutality Richie had described. Setting his pen down deliberately, he let the silence hang between them for a moment before speaking. "Violence like that doesn't just disappear, Richie. Even if it felt like justice in the moment, it leaves something behind. A mark. And for you four? It brings a lot into contrast—more than any of you might realize."

Richie gave a half-smile, awkward and brittle. "Yeah, well," he said, leaning back in his chair, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe you just need to understand that he got the job done. It shut all that shit down, and we're still here because of it."

Teddy shook his head and picked up his pen again, the scratch of it against the page breaking the silence like an unspoken reprimand. His expression stayed neutral, but concern and a flicker of annoyance shadowed his face. When he finally spoke, his tone was clipped, deliberate. "I'll be addressing with Matthew why he failed to mention this," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Richie groaned, leaning forward with exaggerated frustration. "Oh, come on, Doc. You're really gonna bring this up now? You know how he gets about this kind of shit. He's already losing his mind over the wedding, and now you're gonna throw this at him?" Richie jabbed a thumb toward his chest, his voice incredulous. "You know who he's gonna deck first, right? Me."

Teddy glanced up from his notepad, his gaze steady and unyielding, though his voice softened slightly. "Richie, whether or not Matthew gets angry isn't my priority. My concern is ensuring all of you get the help you need. Right now, it's clear there are unresolved issues—serious ones—that Matthew hasn't addressed. And if those are left unchecked, it doesn't just affect him. It ripples through all of you. That's my focus. Not his reaction."

Richie groaned again, slumping back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face in defeat. "I'm sooo screwed," he muttered under his breath, the words half a grumble as he shot Teddy a look of mock betrayal.

>>>>> May >>>>

Their bodies, bruised, bloodied, and marred with deep gashes, reappeared in Matthew's office with a heavy thud. Weapons clattered to the floor, the sound sharp against the stillness. Matthew's arms shot out instinctively, catching Eko before she could collapse entirely. Together, they sank to the ground, his arms cradling her trembling form.

Her chest heaved, each breath rattling as she pressed a hand to the searing wound just below her ribs. Blood seeped through her fingers, staining his already-slick shirt. "Eko, stay with me," Matthew muttered, his voice tight with panic. His eyes darted over her, searching for signs that her condition was worsening. "Just stay with me."

He eased her onto her back, his hands lingering for only a moment before he launched himself toward his desk. Every drawer slammed open as he tore through its contents, his blood-streaked fingers fumbling through papers and supplies. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the room, mingling with the erratic pounding of his heart.

Finally, his hand found the cool glass of a white vial nestled in the chaos. He snatched it up, his grip shaking as he dropped back to his knees beside her. "Come on, baby, don't you dare quit on me," he murmured, voice cracking as he pushed up her torn sleeve, revealing her blood-slicked arm. With practiced urgency, he pressed the vial against her skin and injected it, watching, hoping, praying.

Eko gasped sharply, her back arching as air tore back into her lungs. Her body convulsed briefly, the vial slipping from his hand and rolling across the floor as she coughed violently. Color slowly returned to her pale face, her breathing steadying into shallow but even rhythms.

Matthew exhaled, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, as relief washed over him. He slumped beside her, dragging a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "Don't you dare scare me like that again," he muttered, his smirk creeping back, though the raw tension in his voice betrayed him. "We've got a rehearsal dinner tonight. You dying would make it... awkward."

Eko's lips quirked upward, her eyes glinting faintly with humor despite her pain. "You could always tell them you tried to kill your future wife," she rasped, her voice hoarse but steady.

Matthew huffed a laugh, leaning forward to press his forehead gently to hers. "I'll tell them I'm marrying the world's most stubborn jackass," he murmured, brushing a thumb tenderly across her cheek, his voice softening with sincerity. "But seriously, Eko... don't you ever leave me. I don't want to be alone in this world. Okay?"

Her gaze locked on his, steady despite the exhaustion pulling at her. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, the promise settling between them like a fragile thread of hope. "Not without you."

For a moment, the chaos of their world faded into the background, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the steady thrum of their hearts as they leaned into each other, both alive, both still fighting.

>>>>> May >>>>

"What does Teddy always say? 'It's okay if all we've done is breathe on our bad days,'" Richie murmured, his voice soft but grounding. Those words had become a lifeline for Mya on nights when grief tightened its grip on her, suffocating and relentless. On those nights, when the walls of her room felt too close and sleep refused to come, she would find herself standing on the skydeck, staring into the endless darkness of the cityscape below.

Richie always knew where to find her. Somehow, he understood the rhythm of her despair. And Sawyer—whether it was wisdom or intuition—knew when to step aside and ask Richie to step in. Whatever unspoken connection the two men shared, Richie believe that Sawyer accepted it, trusting that perhaps Richie could reach her in ways he could not. That's why he stayed at their dormitory with Mackenzie, giving Richie the room to speak to her, even if he didn't know the ulterior motive behind it at that time.

The air was cold on the skydeck, sharp against her tear-streaked cheeks as Richie approached. His steps were unhurried, deliberate. He didn't speak right away, letting the silence hold space for her pain. When he finally reached her, Mya turned toward him, her eyes glistening in the faint glow of the city lights. The raw vulnerability etched into her face twisted something deep in his chest.

Without a word, Richie stepped closer, his hand rising to gently wipe the tears from her cheek. His touch was careful, filled with a quiet understanding that reached into the depths of her ache, easing it just enough to let her breathe.

"Did you lose a patient today or something?"

His hand lingered against her cheek, his thumb brushing away another tear. The air between them seemed to shift, the space charged with unspoken emotion, fragile yet undeniable. For a moment, time held still, the chaos of their world fading as their breaths mingled in the cold air.

"Tell me what I can do to help?" Richie leaned in, his gaze flickering to her lips before returning to her eyes, searching for something—permission, perhaps, or the courage to stop himself.

"Don't," Mya whispered, her voice trembling with a soft, pleading note. Her words were a warning, but her body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly closer to him.

Richie hesitated, his breath catching as he saw the turmoil in her eyes—the silent battle between longing and loyalty. Slowly, he stepped back, his hand falling away from her face like it had burned him. The space between them felt colder, the tension dissolving into the chill of the night air, but the weight of everything left unsaid lingered.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city. Yet the look he gave her—intense, raw—made it clear there was no regret in being there for her, even if the boundaries had blurred for a moment.

Mya swallowed hard, her chest tightening as she turned back to the sprawling cityscape. Tears continued to slip down her cheeks, but the storm inside her had calmed just enough to let her breathe. Richie stayed beside her, silent and steady, his presence anchoring her in a way words never could.

He finally broke the silence, his voice soft. "Was it a patient?" He wanted to keep her talking, to pull her out of the spiral he knew all too well.

She shook her head, her voice trembling as she answered, "He thinks you're still in love with me."

Richie blinked, caught off guard by the quiet confession. He didn't reply, letting her keep going.

Mya hesitated, her fingers gripping the railing as if it might steady her. "Richie... Sawyer's a good person. And would you believe it? He loves me. He told me he loves me." Her voice faltered, the weight of her words pressing down on her. "But he's struggling with... us. And I told him you don't love me, that you've moved on after everything with Jacob. That what we have now—it's just our bond for Mackenzie." Her voice cracked, filled with uncertainty. "I'm not wrong, right?"

Richie didn't answer immediately. Her words cut through him, sharp and unrelenting, carving through the protective walls he'd built around their past. The weight of all they'd been—and all they'd lost—settled heavily in the space between them. His expression softened, torn between the love that lingered and the reality she needed him to affirm, both for her sake and for the fragile life she was trying to build with Sawyer.

"Mya," he started, his voice low and careful, but she interrupted.

"Richie?" Her voice cracked, a tremor of uncertainty running through it. She turned to face him fully, her gaze searching his, desperate for something—reassurance, clarity, anything to make sense of the feelings she couldn't untangle. "You don't... right? Sawyer says we need to leave the past behind, but..." Her words hung in the air, unfinished, before she swallowed hard. "What happened between us was a long time ago, and we've moved on... haven't we? We're not those people anymore, right?"

Richie's resolve wavered, his breath hitching. "I—I..." he stammered, his voice trembling under the weight of her question. His shoulders slumped slightly as the fractures in his composure began to show. "What are you asking me, Mya?"

Mya's chest tightened, the vulnerability of her question sharp enough to steal the air from her lungs. She took a small step back, creating just enough distance to loosen the unbearable pull between them. Richie's gaze lingered, caught between the pain of letting go and the longing that refused to fade, but he stayed silent, unwilling to cross the fragile boundary she'd drawn.

Her voice broke as she whispered, "Do you love me?" The question hung in the air like a blade, fragile yet piercing, her words thick with emotion. "I need to know, Richie." Her words faltered, the unspoken possibilities stretching between them like a chasm. "Has Sawyer got this wrong?"

Richie's heart clenched as her question hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. She wasn't just asking for clarity—she was asking for something deeper, a lifeline, a chance to tether them to a piece of their fractured history. Everything he wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of, was standing right there, just a breath away. But as he looked into her tear-filled eyes, memories surged forward unbidden—Mya's cries of anguish the day they lost their son, the unbearable weight of their shared pain crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

Her screams, raw and piercing, echoed in his mind, drowning out everything else. He could still feel the helplessness, the crushing sense of failure, and the gut-wrenching realization that he hadn't been enough for her then. How could he be enough for her now? His defenses rose instinctively, walls locking into place to keep himself from crossing the point of no return.

His voice trembled as he finally spoke, low and pained. "The kid... he's reading it wrong." The words felt like shards of glass in his throat, every syllable an agony to utter. "I want you to be happy, Mya. And I don't..." He faltered, swallowing hard, forcing the lie past his lips. "I don't care for you like that."

The silence that followed was deafening. Richie watched her expression falter, the faint flicker of hope in her eyes extinguished as his words settled over them like a suffocating weight. His chest tightened as she nodded slowly, the tears she'd fought so hard to suppress finally spilling over.

"I... I want you to be happy, too," Mya whispered, her voice cracking as she tried to maintain composure. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, seeking something to anchor her. "And, uh... it's good to know you don't feel that way. To clear the air, you know?" Her attempt at nonchalance fell flat, the pain in her voice betraying her. "So we can move on."

She bit her bottom lip, her head dipping slightly as if to shield herself from the raw vulnerability etched across her face. For the tiniest moment, she'd thought—no, she'd hoped—that there might still be something there. Something worth salvaging. But she'd been wrong. What they'd had was for Mackenzie's sake, for survival. Nothing more.

Richie's jaw tightened as he watched her retreat into herself, every fiber of his being screaming to stop her, to reach out, to tell her the truth—that he'd never stopped loving her, that he never could. But his fear, his guilt, and the scars etched so deeply into his soul held him back like iron chains. She deserved peace, a clean slate, and if letting her go was the price, he would pay it. Even if it tore him apart inside.

Her voice broke through the silence, fragile and wavering. "We'll always be friends?" The question hung in the air like a lifeline, bittersweet and trembling, a shadow of what could never be. "That's something we won't lose, right? After everything?"

Richie swallowed hard, forcing a small, sad smile to his lips. "Yeah... friends. Of course." The word came out heavier than he intended, like an anchor pulling him under.

"Friends," she repeated softly, the word trembling on her lips as though she were trying to convince herself. With a practiced smile, one that didn't reach her eyes, she nodded and turned away. Her footsteps echoed faintly on the skydeck, each one carrying her further into the life she had chosen to commit to. Richie stayed behind, unmoving, his heart unbearably heavy as he watched her fade into the night.

He didn't know why he'd frozen, why, when everything he wanted—everything he'd ever dreamed of—was right in front of him, he'd stood still. A gutless coward, paralyzed by his own fear of what happiness might demand of him. And in that single moment of hesitation, he'd let her slip through his fingers.

The night grew colder, the city lights blurring in his vision as the weight of his silence pressed against his chest. He let out a shaky breath, his hand running through his hair in frustration. "Friends?" he whispered bitterly to himself, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "You fucking moron."

And yet, he stayed rooted there, staring into the void of the cityscape, knowing he would carry the weight of this moment for the rest of his life.

>>>>> June >>>>

Eko lay entangled in their sheets, her body cocooned against the unusually cold June air that seeped into the room. The chill felt sharper tonight, an odd contrast to the warmth radiating from Matthew as he slept soundly beside her. She pulled the blanket closer, her eyes tracing the softened lines of his face, his features unguarded in the rare peace of deep, unbroken sleep.

It had taken months—months of tense disagreements, restless nights, and one particularly devastating fight—to reach this point.

That fight had erupted the night Matthew came back from his session with Teddy. Eko could tell from the moment he walked through the door that something was wrong. His jaw was set, his shoulders tense, and the darkness in his eyes was sharper than usual. He didn't speak at first, just paced the room like a caged animal, radiating a storm of emotions he couldn't contain.

Richie stepped forward, oblivious to the brewing storm. The words were barely out of his mouth when Matthew lunged. His fist connected with Richie's jaw in a brutal, bone-jarring punch that sent Richie sprawling to the ground. The sound reverberated through the office like a gunshot.

Before Richie could react, Matthew was on him again, stepping over him and grabbing his shirt with both hands. With a growl that was more animal than human, he hauled Richie upward, his knuckles poised for another blow.

Eko and Toni were on him immediately, each grabbing an arm and shouting for him to stop. The struggle was chaotic, Matthew's strength fueled by unbridled rage as he fought against them, desperate to land another hit. Richie struggled to pull free, his voice rising in a mix of pain when he screamed at him about what he told Teddy, but it was pandemonium when Jesse burst into the office, her voice cutting through the commotion like a whip.

The chaos only escalated. Jesse was shouting, Richie was apologizing profusely, and Toni was doing everything he could to hold Matthew back. Toni's face was pale, his voice rising as he tried with Eko to get Matthew to simply to breathe. The room was a blur of movement and noise, the tension crackling like electricity in the air.

Finally, Toni and Jesse managed to wrestle Richie out of the room, dragging him through the doorway as his apologetic protests faded into the distance. The room fell eerily quiet, save for the ragged sound of Matthew's breathing.

Eko was left alone with him, and the silence was deafening, but that's when they had fought like they never had before.

Matthew's exhaustion bled into his anger, his frustration spilling out in sharp, cutting words that seemed to echo in the room. Eko stood firm, her own voice rising in a mix of heartbreak and determination, but it was clear—whatever had surfaced in that session with Teddy, whatever Richie had unearthed—had shaken him to his very core.

When his anger burned itself out, replaced by the weight of everything he carried, Eko had begged him. Her voice broke under the strain, her own frustration and worry pouring out as she pleaded with him to try the sleeping aids. To do something—anything—to break the relentless cycle of his exhaustion and self-destruction.

She could still hear the crack in her voice, the desperation lacing every word as she told him he couldn't keep doing this to himself. In the end, his exhaustion had outpaced his stubbornness. He'd relented—just barely. Half a dose, just this once.

Eko had sworn to him it wouldn't become a crutch. She'd reassured him, over and over, that needing help wasn't weakness, that accepting rest didn't mean he was following the same path as Toni. She knew what haunted him, the fear that even the smallest reliance on something outside himself could spiral into something darker.

But she also knew the toll his sleepless nights were taking. She saw the cracks widening, threatening to break him entirely.

Tonight, though, she had won.

Eko watched him now, his breathing even and steady, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm she clung to like a lifeline. The deep shadows beneath his eyes had softened, the tension carved into his brow had eased. Like this, in the stillness of sleep, he looked younger—almost untouched by the burdens that weighed so heavily on him when he was awake. For the first time in what felt like forever, his body had surrendered to the rest it so desperately needed.

But it wasn't just sleep he needed; it was escape—from the relentless grind of his waking life. The endless meetings with the royal board, the suffocating weight of preparing for the coronation at year's end with a new King or Queen—each responsibility added another layer to the crushing weight on his shoulders. And beneath it all, deeper than those visible demands, were the shadows of his past. The memories of his childhood—the horrors he had endured—clung to him, dark and unrelenting, haunting his every step. They were carved into him, etched into his very being as unshakable reminders of a history he could never truly leave behind.

It wasn't until after their explosive argument that he opened up fully, finally breaking the silence he had kept guarded for so long. He told her about the massacre at the orphanages. He told her about Tobias. Eko wasn't surprised; she had known in pieces, from his restless nights, his sleep-talking—muttered fragments of that name, the screaming that came from him. She had never dared to mention it, not even when she'd confided in Teddy. Teddy had prompted her to keep it to herself, to let Matthew share it when he was ready.

When he finally did, it was more than she had prepared for. He told her something that struck her to her core: throughout his life, she was the only person he had ever truly slept with—just slept.

When he told her that no other girl or woman had also never ever shared his bed, she understood it in a way she hadn't before. It wasn't him being a playboy smart ass, nor was it about sex or conquest. It was because of his nightmares

To Matthew, sharing a bed meant more than closeness or intimacy—it meant trust, safety, vulnerability. Sleeping with someone made him feel exposed. It's when he then confessed that the first time they had sex, was the only night in his life when his sleep had been peaceful—when the ghosts of his past had left him alone. His words hit her like a slow, aching blow, stirring a bittersweet ache deep in her chest.

Eko felt the weight of those words settle over her, stirring an ache deep in her chest. She hated that sleep had never been a sanctuary for him. From such a young age, it had always been another battleground—a place where his mind waged war against him, unrelenting and merciless. That even in the quiet of the night, when the world should have offered him peace, he had been left fighting demons no one could see.

Tonight, his breathing was steady, his face calm. As Eko watched him, she clung to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find more moments like this—moments where he didn't have to fight. Moments when his mind wasn't merciless, dragging him into relentless loops of relived trauma. Where nightmares didn't descend with unyielding precision, tearing him apart until rest itself became something to fear.

She hated that his nights were spent in a desperate attempt to outrun it all—working, training, burying himself in anything to keep awake. When he told her about it, his voice was flat, almost detached, as if speaking about someone else. He insisted it was better this way, that staying busy, staying numb, was easier than letting the terror claw its way back in the moment he closed his eyes.

But it wasn't better. She could see it in the way his shoulders sagged a little more each day, in the growing dullness of his once-bright gaze. She saw the cracks forming in him—the fleeting moments when the pain bled through, raw and unfiltered, no matter how fiercely he tried to hold it back.

Without thinking, her hand moved, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of his hand where it rested on the mattress. Her touch was delicate, tracing the faint scars etched into his skin. Featherlight, as though afraid to disturb this fragile moment of peace.

"Stay like this," she whispered, her voice trembling with a quiet, desperate plea. Her thumb ghosted over his knuckles "Just for a little while longer."

Eko rested her head on the pillows beside him, exhaustion pulling her toward a fragile slumber. The room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of Matthew's breathing, its pattern soothing enough to blur the edges of her wakefulness. She didn't know if she drifted for seconds or hours—time seemed to dissolve in the stillness.

Then, it shattered.

Matthew's body jerked, his muscles locking as though seized by some invisible force. His hands clawed at the sheets, twisting them into desperate knots. A guttural sound rose from his throat, low and fractured, before erupting into a scream that shook her to her core. "No! No! Mom! Where are you?!"

Eko shot upright, her pulse thundering in her ears as she struggled to orient herself. The oppressive darkness pressed in, amplifying his cries, it tore through him with a violence she could only watch and fear.

"Matthew," she called, her voice small and trembling as she reached out to him. Her fingers brushed his shoulder, but it was like touching a live wire—his body spasmed, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

Then he screamed again. "Stop, stop, STOP!" The words were broken, choked, and she felt her throat tighten as though they were lodged there too. His fists pounded weakly at the mattress, his entire body trembling. "Stop eating him! STOP!"

Eko's heart fractured as she cupped his sweat-soaked face, her hands trembling against the fevered heat of his skin. Dampness slicked her palms, a stark reminder of the battle raging inside him. "Matthew," she called, her voice louder now, strained and desperate to cut through the haze. "Baby, wake up. You're dreaming."

But the nightmare gripped him tighter, dragging him deeper into its suffocating hold. His screams shattered the silence, raw and unrelenting, filled with a bottomless, aching pain. "DAD!" The word tore from his lips, a jagged cry of anguish that left him trembling. "Sissy..." His body convulsed violently, silent tears carving harsh, unrelenting paths down his flushed cheeks.

"Shit," Eko whispered, her voice cracking as she inched closer. Her hands hovered just above his trembling shoulders, unsure whether her touch would anchor him or send him spiraling further. She recognized the anguish in his cries—the nightmare of his parents, of his sister. These were the ones that ripped through him, left him hollow for days. "Matthew, baby," she pleaded, her voice shaking. "You need to wake up. Don't stay in these memories. Please."

But her words were devoured by the storm inside him, unable to pierce the fog of his anguish. His cries twisted into something primal, guttural—a raw, childlike wail that cut through her like a knife. His body thrashed, each spasm a violent release of torment buried so deeply it now erupted with unrelenting ferocity. Watching him unravel, consumed by ghosts she couldn't fight, splintered her resolve into jagged pieces.

"Get the fuck off me!" Matthew's scream ripped from his throat, hoarse and broken, the words drenched in raw terror and rage.

"No, no, no..." Eko's voice broke, her breath hitching as the shift in his cries hit her like a physical blow. She knew immediately—the nightmare had shifted, dragging him somewhere far darker. Her chest tightened painfully, dread sinking into her bones. This was what she feared most. "Matthew," she called softly, her voice trembling, tears threatening to spill as she fought to steady herself.

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME TOBIAS!" The scream ripped through the air, raw and guttural, torn from a place of deep, unrelenting pain. It erupted from him with an animalistic force, fractured and desperate, a twisted cocktail of fury and helplessness. His fists lashed out wildly, striking at nothing, his movements erratic and chaotic, as if he were fighting off invisible hands holding him down.

And then, it came.

The scream.

It was always the same, that terrible, soul-piercing sound that told her exactly where he was in the nightmare. The scream—haunting and unnatural—shouldn't come from a grown man, yet it did, born from a place of unimaginable brutality. It tore through the room like a jagged blade, gut-wrenchingly raw, dredged up from the deepest, darkest corners of his being. It froze her every time, stalling her breath in her chest, while a cold shiver clawed its way up her spine and settled in her bones.

Eko braced herself, her pulse hammering for what always came next.

His cry—a painful, broken roar—reverberated through the room, cracking like thunder. The sound carried a weight that pulled the air from her lungs. He gasped between sobs, his breathing ragged and shallow, like his chest couldn't keep up with the agony pouring from him. There was no pain worse than this—not for him, and not for her. This cry shattered something inside her every time she heard it.

"Matthew, baby," Eko whispered, her voice trembling as she inched closer. Her hands hovered just above him, shaking as she resisted the urge to reach out. She didn't dare touch him—not yet. She'd learned what touch did to him in this state, how it could anchor him to the nightmare instead of pulling him free. "If you can hear me, you're safe," she said softly, repeating it because it was all she could think to do, the only lifeline she could throw.

Teddy had told her this—had warned her to hold her ground, even when it felt like everything inside her was breaking. "Abuse victims, Eko, are my most complicated patients, Matthew is one of my worse ones," he'd said once, his voice heavy with the weight of years spent trying to untangle the scars of others. "The orphanages... they were riddled with men who wanted to hurt children because of what was torn from them. It's a cycle of pain—fight or flight becomes survival, and humanity..." He'd paused, shaking his head. "...it wasn't its kindest in those early years."

He'd placed a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder, grounding her as she sat across from him, her own emotions raw. "When the nightmares come,  just keep talking to him—tell him he's safe, remind him he's not there anymore. Keep going until he hears you."

Teddy's brow had furrowed then, his voice softening as his gaze met hers. "And Eko, don't think for a second that you can fix it. You can't." The words had stung, but they came from a place of deep understanding. "You're not there to save him from the past—you're there to remind him that he survived it."

"GOD! STOP!" Matthew's roar tore through the room, raw and broken, each word bleeding anguish. "Please... just fucking stop." Sparks of wild, untamed magic crackled at his fingertips, snapping violently in the air like miniature storms. Each jagged burst of light illuminated the room in sharp, fleeting intervals, casting distorted shadows across Eko's tear-streaked face.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, the sting of his magic lancing through her skin like needles. It felt as though the storm inside him was reaching for her too, pulling her into his chaos. She gritted her teeth and stayed firm, refusing to back away even as the volatile energy surged in rhythm with his ragged, gasping sobs.

Then, a louder scream ripped through the room—a sound so raw, so animalistic, it cut through her resolve like a knife. His body lurched violently, throwing himself from the bed with enough force to rattle the furniture. "Please!" he begged, his voice breaking as he scrambled backward, away from her, his movements frantic and uncoordinated.

Magic surged wildly around him, scorching the floor where his hands struck it, each impact sending ripples of energy through the air. The vibrations were suffocating, heavy with the remnants of his power, the room pulsing like a living thing caught in his torment.

"E-enough... stop," he choked out, his voice a fractured whisper, barely audible over the crackling magic. A guttural sob tore free from his throat, raw and broken, shaking him so deeply it reverberated through Eko as though it were her own. His trembling hands clawed at the empty space, grasping desperately for something—anything—that wasn't there, as if reaching for a lifeline that had long since disappeared.

"Baby?" Eko's voice cracked, her chest tightening as she watched him unravel. Her bottom lip trembled, and she bit down hard, forcing herself to focus. She couldn't just sit there. She couldn't do nothing—not when he was breaking in front of her. No matter how dangerous it was, no matter how much his power burned against her, she lunged forward.

Her hands gripped his trembling shoulders, the force of his unrelenting energy slamming into her. Her body shook under its weight, but she held firm. Her magic flared to life pulsing brightly as its energy surged outward. The glow spilled around them, meeting the raw chaos of his own power head-on. It wasn't just light—it was calm, steady, deliberate, cutting through the storm that raged inside him.

The whiteness enveloped them both as she poured all her focus into him, her hand pressing firmly against his chest, directly over his heart. "I'm here," she whispered, her voice steady but thick with emotion. She leaned closer, pressing her forehead gently to his, her tears slipping down to mingle with his sweat. "Open your eyes for me, Matthew. Please. Come back to me."

Her magic entwined with his, a steady and calming presence against the raging storm. It pushed back the roaring beast within him, soothing the relentless tide of his torment, dimming the jagged edges of his power until it began to waver.

The light spilled around them, soft and warm, dulling the sharp, crackling energy in the air. Slowly, his magic receded, like a tide retreating from the shore. His eyes snapped open suddenly, wild and unfocused, darting around the room as though still trapped in the haze of the nightmare. The shadows of the orphanage clung to him, the ghost of his past still heavy on his chest.

Then his gaze found her.

The tear-streaked lines of her face, the steady grip of her hands against his trembling body, the unwavering strength in her voice—it cut through the fog. Something broke through.

"Eko?" he whimpered, his voice small and fragile, each syllable trembling with confusion and vulnerability.

"It's me, I'm here. You're safe," she choked out, her voice breaking as the last remnants of her magic faded, the pulsing glow dissolving into the dim stillness of the room. She didn't hesitate. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, holding him tightly as though she could shield him from the torment still clawing at his mind.

This was a side of Matthew no one else ever saw—the fragile, fractured man haunted by the terrified little boy he once was. A boy who had endured unspeakable cruelty, who had learned to bury his pain beneath layers of strength and control just to survive. But Eko saw it all—the cracks in his armor, the weight of the ghosts he carried—and she held him tighter. Her voice was a quiet promise in the aftermath of his storm, steady and soothing as her hands moved gently along his back. "I've got you," she murmured, her words soft but unyielding. "It's okay. You're safe. I'm here. I won't let anyone hurt you—not ever again."

Her words seeped into him like a balm, loosening the suffocating grip of the nightmare that felt as though it was choking him. And then, as though her reassurance shattered the last of the walls he'd built to contain his pain, the floodgates opened. A broken sob tore from his throat, his entire body trembling as he buried his face in her shoulder. He clung to her, his grip desperate and unrelenting, as if she were the only anchor in a world that was spinning wildly out of control.

Eko ran her fingers gently through his hair, grounding him with the steady, unwavering warmth of her presence. She could feel it—the way the man the world had hardened and shaped fell away, stripped back to reveal the wounded, terrified child beneath. A child who wanted nothing more than to have his innocence restored, to reclaim the pieces of himself that had been stolen. His cries grew hoarse, his voice faltering as fragments of words tumbled out in fits and starts: shards of pain, guilt, and haunted memories spilling from his lips between gasping breaths.

And so she stayed, cradling him as he broke apart, she held him through it all, until the storm within him began to fade, leaving him trembling but lighter, the agony no longer suffocating him.

This man—the man she would soon marry—was worth every moment, every struggle. There was nothing in this world or any other that could tear her away from him, no force that could make her let go. Because she had chosen him, all of him, and together they would face every darkness that dared to come at them.

>>>>> June >>>>

Jesse sat beside Aiden, her focus drifting in and out as they talked about the upcoming bachelorette party. She mentioned how she'd be gone for the weekend before the wedding chaos began. The office, usually her safe haven, felt different today—too still, the air weighted. Something was off. Aiden wasn't himself. His usual easy smile had vanished, replaced by restless hands drumming the arm of his chair.

"Aiden, you okay?" she asked, forcing her tone to stay light, though a quiet unease began to settle in her chest.

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. Then, as if bracing himself, he turned to face her. The look in his eyes froze her in place. A flicker of guilt, a shadow of something deeper—something final.

"I'm leaving," he said abruptly. The words hung heavy in the air, sharp and dissonant.

Jesse blinked, her mind scrambling to make sense of it. "Wait... what?" she asked, her voice wavering, like saying it aloud might undo whatever this was.

Aiden swallowed hard, his gaze slipping away from hers. "Tomorrow," he continued, his tone hollow and deliberate. "While you're gone, I'll pack up. And then... I'm gone."

The room spun. Her breath hitched, heart plummeting into a freefall. She stared at him, her brain refusing to process what he'd just said. Gone? The word echoed, ricocheting through her like a hollow bullet.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" Jesse's voice broke through the static, a mix of disbelief and fury. She couldn't stop the surge of anger, a flood of emotion crashing over her as the reality began to sink in.

Aiden finally met her eyes, and the resignation in his expression hit harder than his words. He meant it. This wasn't a fight, a misunderstanding, or even a bad day. This was him, choosing to leave.

"Jesse..." he started, but she cut him off, her hands gripping the edge of the desk as if holding onto it would keep her steady.

"No," she snapped, her voice trembling with hurt and frustration. "Don't Jesse me. You don't just... you don't just decide to pack up and leave like it's nothing! Like we're nothing! What the fuck, Aiden?"

Her words landed like stones in the silence, her anger barely masking the ache underneath. He flinched but said nothing, his silence answering questions she didn't even know how to ask.

And in that moment, Jesse felt the ground beneath her crack.