The silence is suffocating. When Jinx stumbles into her hideout, it greets her like a predator──heavy, cold, and alive. She freezes, expecting──hoping──for something, anything.

Maybe music. Chaotic, pounding rock with distorted guitars and shrieking vocals that would make her heart race and her fingers twitch. Maybe Silco walking in, calm and sharp, ready to tear into her about some mess she'd made. Maybe Sevika, grumbling in the corner, nursing another wound or another drink.

Maybe Isha──sweet, wide-eyed Isha──darting toward her, alive, arms outstretched for one of those too-tight hugs that used to annoy her but now──

God.

Jinx blinks, but nothing changes. The room is empty. Just the plink, plink, plink of water dripping through cracks in the ceiling. The neon tubes flicker, casting sickly blue and pink light over walls smothered in graffiti. The shadows are jagged, alien, taunting her.

Her chest tightens. The silence presses in like a noose, humming in her ears, crawling under her skin, echoing through her skull. It grows, breathing, mocking her every step.

Tears burn behind her eyes. Her lips part, and the scream that rips from her throat is raw, feral. Her voice cracks, breaks, splinters like the world around her. The hideout throws it back at her, each echo a slap across her face. She gasps for air but finds none, her ribs squeezing tighter and tighter, crushing her from the inside.

Her legs shake as she stumbles to her workbench, movements jerky and disjointed, like a puppet with tangled strings. Her fingers hover over the clutter──tools, blueprints, half-finished gadgets──before stopping on a crayon drawing. It's crude and smudged, the colours bleeding together. Her, Sevika, and Isha, holding hands. Smiling. Together.

In the corner of her eye, a ghost of Isha darts past. Jinx whips around, her breath hitching. But the corner is empty. Of course it is. Still, she can see her so clearly──her small hands gripping a gadget, turning to show it off with a wide, gap-toothed grin.

The sound of her laugh echoes in Jinx's ears. Her stomach twists.

She screams again, louder, trying to drown it out, and swipes everything off the bench. Metal crashes to the floor. Wrenches and screwdrivers scatter, roll to the edge of the platform, and disappear into the pit below.

She turns──and sees the mirror.

Cracked and filthy, it catches her breath. At first, she doesn't see herself. She sees Isha, grinning, marvelling at her clumsy blue hair dye job. Jinx had smiled back then, full of pride, warmth spreading through her chest.

Whole. She'd felt whole.

Then the voices start.

"You killed them," Mylo spits, his voice dripping with venom.

"It's your fault," whispers Claggor, quieter but heavier, crushing her with the weight of his disappointment.

"You were supposed to protect us." Her younger self now──small, trembling, holding Isha's hand. Eyes wide with betrayal. "You were supposed to keep us safe."

"No, no, no." Her hands clawing at her hair, nails digging deep, trying to tear the voices out of her head. "It wasn't my fault──it wasn't my fault!"

"You're broken," came Silco's voice, cruel and kind all at once. "You've always been broken. No one can fix you."

"You ruin everything you touch. You always have. You always will."

"Shut up."

"You're alone because you deserve to be."

"Shut up!"

But they don't. The voices overlap, snarling accusations, whispering doubts, twisting the knife over and over.

"Maybe it'd be better if you just disappeared."

"They'd be better off without you."

"Shut UP!" she screams, slamming her fist into the mirror. It shatters instantly. Glass splinters rain down onto the bench, catching the light like broken stars, smeared red as blood drips from her knuckles to the floor.

She stares at her trembling hand, at the shards buried deep in her skin. But she doesn't flinch. Doesn't feel the sting, the warmth, the pain.

Nothing.

Why?

Why couldn't she feel anything?

Her eyes fall to a shard on the bench, its jagged edge catching the neon light. She picks it up, turning it over in her hand. The reflection staring back is barely human. Dead eyes, tangled hair──hair Silco used to braid for her. Hair Isha used to play with, giggling as she looped it around her tiny fingers.

The voices don't stop. The silence doesn't stop. Nothing stops.

"I should've been better," she whispers to no one.

The shard presses into her palm, deeper this time. Blood trails down her arm in slow, deliberate rivulets.

She exhales, long and shuddering. A decision settles in her bones, cold and final.

She knows where she needs to go.

One last visit.

One last conversation.

Jinx turns and walks away, leaving the wreckage behind. The silence follows her.