She's gone when I wake up.

      The space beside me is still warm, the indent in the carpet where we sat talking until we both fell asleep still visible. Her absence hurts, and the silence of the room is suffocating after hours of her whispered confessions and muffled tears.

      Last night feels like a dream now—holding her while she finally let herself break, watching her walls crumble one star at a time. The vulnerability in her eyes when she admitted how tired she was of being strong. The way she curled into me like she was finally letting someone else carry her weight.

      The star room is empty, the window open to the pre-dawn air. No note. No explanation. Just scattered drawings of bridges and stars and car crashes.

      My heart stops when I see her phone on the floor, screen cracked and battery dead. She never goes anywhere without her phone. Never leaves without checking on Lucy.

      Something's wrong.

      I start at Lou's Diner. The waitress who knows our milkshake orders shakes her head—hasn't seen her in a while.

      The quarry is empty except for old tire tracks and memories of screaming into the void.

      Each empty place makes the panic in my chest grow stronger.

      The city blurs past my window as I drive, each empty location making my hands shake harder on the steering wheel. Images flash through my mind—Riley alone somewhere, Riley hurt, Riley giving up in ways I understand too well.

      Every red light feels like an eternity. Every turn takes me somewhere she's not. 

      My chest feels too tight, like all the air is being squeezed out with each place I don't find her. This must be how she felt that night her parent's died—searching, hoping, praying to find the people she loves safe.

      The rain starts as I'm driving to the park where she sometimes draws. Fat drops hitting my windshield like the universe is crying.

      Or maybe it's trying to tell me something.

      Because suddenly I know exactly where she is.

      The Highland Bridge looks different in the rain. Darker. More dangerous. Or maybe that's just because I'm seeing it through her eyes now instead of mine.

      She's already soaked when I find her, hair plastered to her face, that oversized green sweater hanging heavy with water. She's not standing on the edge like I was. Just leaning against the railing, staring down at the churning water below.

      "You know," I say, keeping my voice casual despite my racing heart, "there are easier ways to get my attention than recreating the night we met."

      She doesn't look up. "Go away, Ethan."

      "Can't do that." I move closer, slow enough not to startle her. "Rule number four, remember? No running away."

      "Pretty sure that rule was meant for you."

      "Pretty sure you're the one who said they'd be mutual."

      Now she does look at me, and my heart breaks at the emptiness in her eyes. "I break all my rules eventually. Why should this one be any different?"

      "Because I won't let you."

      She laughs, hollow and broken. "You can't save everyone, Ethan."

      "No." I take another step closer. "Just you."

      The rain is coming down harder now, thunder rolling in the distance. Her sweater has a hole in the sleeve where she's been picking at it.

      "I was running late." Her voice is barely audible over the storm. "Art club ran over, and I was working on this stupid painting of stars, and Mom kept calling but I didn't answer because I was almost done..."

      My chest tightens. She's never talked about that night before.

      "They were supposed to wait at the restaurant." Her hands clench on the railing. "But Dad decided to come get me instead. Said it wasn't safe for me to drive in the rain." Another broken laugh. "He was right about that part, at least."

      "Riley..."

      "I finished the painting. Packed up my supplies. Took my time because I thought they were waiting at the restaurant." Her voice cracks. "I didn't know they were in the intersection when the truck ran the red light. Didn't know they were already dead while I was cleaning my brushes."

      I reach for her, but she flinches away.

      "The restaurant called my phone." She's shaking now, tears mixing with rain. "Asked if I still wanted our reservation. That's how I found out. Not from the police or the hospital or... I found out because the hostess wanted to know if we were still coming for my birthday dinner."

      "It wasn't your fault."

      "Wasn't it?" She turns to face me fully. "If I'd answered their calls. If I'd left when I was supposed to. If I'd been in that car—"

      "Then Lucy would have lost you as well that night."

      She flinches like I've slapped her.

      "And you know what else?" I step closer, forcing her to look at me. "If you'd been in that car, I'd be dead right now. Because I would have stepped off that bridge, and you wouldn't have been there to save me with ice cream sandwiches and ridiculous theories about Neapolitan flavours."

      "Don't, Ethan."

      "Why? It's true." Another step. "You want to talk about what-ifs? What if you'd been in that car? What if you'd died that night? What about all the people you've helped since then? All the lives you've touched?"

      "Stop it."

      "What about Lucy?" My voice breaks. "What about me?"

      "I couldn't save them!" The words explode out of her. "I couldn't save my parents, and I couldn't save myself, and I can't... I can't save you! I'm not strong enough or good enough or—"

      I kiss her.

      She makes a startled sound against my mouth, hands coming up to push me away. But then they're fisting in my shirt instead, pulling me closer.

      She tastes like rain and salt and desperation. Like someone who's been drowning for so long they've forgotten how to breathe. Her hands clutch at my shirt like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go, and maybe she is. Maybe that's what happens when you lose everyone you love—you start expecting goodbye in every hello.

      I pour everything I can't say into the kiss. To make her understand that she matters. That she's worth saving. That she's been saving me since the moment she sat down on that bridge with ice cream and impossible promises.

      When we break apart, she's crying harder. But something's different now. Like maybe she's finally letting herself feel everything she's been running from.

      "I miss them so much," she whispers against my lips.

      "I know."

      "I'm so tired of being scared."

      "I know that too."

      She pulls back enough to look at me, rain streaming down her face. "What if I can't do this? What if I'm too broken?"

      "Then we'll be broken together." I brush wet hair from her face. "And we'll put each other back together, piece by piece, star by star."

      "Why?"

      "Because you're worth it." I kiss her again, softer this time. "Because I'm in love with you. Because some people are worth staying alive for, remember?"

      "I remember."

      We stand there in the rain, holding each other while thunder rolls overhead. She's still shaking, still crying, but maybe that's okay. Maybe she needs to break a little more before she can start healing.

      "Come on." I take her hand. "Let's get out of the rain."

      She lets me lead her to my car, but at the last moment she turns back to look at the bridge.

      "I don't want to die," she says quietly.

      "I know."

      "I just... I don't always know how to live either."

      I squeeze her hand. "Then we'll figure it out together."

      She looks at me then, really looks at me, like she's seeing something new. Or maybe something that's been there all along.

      "Together," she repeats, like she's testing the word.

      And for the first time since I've known her, her smile reaches her eyes.