Kelli’s still there.
In the back of my mind.
In the tightness in my chest I can’t breathe through.
In the way my hand sometimes flexes, aching for something it can't reach.
I curse under my breath and shove the thoughts down where they belong—deep and dark and chained tight.
She’s better off without me.
Safer.
I’m a weapon. Not a man. Not anymore.
And weapons don’t get happy endings.
Later, I sit in a dive apartment, lights low, drink cheap and burning down my throat.
The city hums outside—low, angry.
I scrub a hand over my face, staring at the battered wall like it'll offer answers.
It doesn't.
Nothing does.
I think about her eyes.
The fire in them.
The way she looked at me like she saw past the blood on my hands and didn’t flinch.
Nobody’s ever looked at me like that.
Not once.
I slam the glass down hard enough to crack it.
No.
Thinking gets you killed.
Feeling gets you killed.
I came to Gur to forget.
To bleed out the pieces of me that still believe in things like fate, like bonds, like destiny.
But fate’s stubborn.
Destiny’s cruel.
And bonds?
Bonds don’t break just because you’re too much of a coward to face them.
I lean back in the chair, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
