Prologue
The stars look like glittering diamonds scattered across an obsidian bracelet, each one sharp and cold against the vast stretch of night. They seem brighter tonight—too bright, almost—as if they’re watching. As if they know. A quiet, persistent memory tugs at the edge of your mind, the kind that refuses to be ignored no matter how hard you try to bury it. You’re sitting on the ridge of your roof, the shingles rough beneath your palms, the air cool and whispering against your skin. The world feels suspended, held in that fragile space between noise and silence. And beside you—she’s there. Close enough that your shoulders almost touch. She’s laughing. Not just any laugh. Her laugh. It spills out of her, warm and unguarded, filling the empty spaces of the night until there’s no room left for anything else. It’s the kind of sound that makes everything feel temporary except this moment. You’ve memorized it without trying—the rhythm, the rise and fall, the way it lingers just a second longer than it should. It’s the sound you’ve come to rely on, the sound that steadies you when everything else tilts out of place. The only person in this universe you could depend on. Talk to. Run to. Fight for. Die for. The memory flickers, fragile as glass, and then fractures. What must she be doing now? The thought presses in, sharp and unwelcome. Is she pacing the house, anger still burning through her like a storm that won’t settle? Or has it faded into something quieter—something worse? Is she worried? Is she looking for you? Or is she still replaying your last words? Stupid. Careless. Thrown like stones you can’t take back. You don’t even remember what started it. Isn’t that the worst part? That something so small—so forgettable—could grow teeth and claws and tear you apart like that? You try to reconstruct it, but all you find are fragments: raised voices, a slammed door, the look on her face when you walked away. You wish—desperately, painfully—that she were here right now. Sitting beside you. Laughing like nothing ever broke. A sharp beep cuts through the silence. You flinch. The sound feels too loud, too sudden, shattering the fragile stillness you’ve been clinging to. Your watch blinks insistently: 3:00 AM. Your fingers fumble clumsily against it, pressing buttons too hard, too fast, until the noise finally dies. But it’s too late. Your heart stutters, then begins to pound, each beat louder than the last. You freeze, listening. Nothing. Then - Footsteps. They were distant before, easy to ignore. Now they’ve stopped. A breath passes. And then they turn. Toward you. “Curse it,” you whisper, the words barely more than air, swallowed immediately by the night. You take a step back. Then another. Slow. Careful. Your shoes scrape softly against the edge of the pit, each movement measured, deliberate. You don’t dare look away from the darkness ahead, even as your body retreats inch by inch. The edge comes faster than you expect. There’s nowhere left to go. The drop yawns behind you, an endless chasm of shadow waiting to swallow you whole. The air feels thinner here, sharper. One wrong move and - A shape detaches itself from the darkness. A figure. Tall. Still. Watching. Your breath catches. They step forward, and the faint light spills across their face - and your stomach twists. Blood. Not fresh enough to drip, but not old enough to ignore. It streaks across their skin like careless paint, smeared and uneven. And beneath it, something worse - A smile. Wide. Crooked. Certain. Arrogance radiates from them, thick and suffocating, as if this - you - are nothing more than a game they’ve already won. They tilt their head, studying you like something small and trapped. “Done playing hide and seek, are we?” they ask, their voice low and rough, like gravel dragged across stone. Your throat tightens, but you force the words out anyway. “You don’t have to do this.” You hate how thin your voice sounds. How fragile. For a moment, they pause. And then, slowly, they nod. “You’re right,” they say. The words don’t fit. They land wrong, like a piece of a puzzle forced into place. “You’re right. I don’t have to.” Hope - tiny and foolish - flickers to life in your chest. It’s small, barely there, but it’s enough to make you hesitate. Enough to make you think - Maybe. Maybe this isn’t how it ends. Their smile widens. “But I want to.” The hope shatters. There’s a sudden movement - a blur - and the world lurches violently. For a split second, everything is noise and motion and impossible weightlessness. The floor disappears beneath your feet, the sky tilts, and the stars - those cold, glittering diamonds - spin wildly above you. There’s a sound. A laugh. Sharp. Splintering. Wrong. Or maybe it’s your scream. You can’t tell anymore. The air rushes past you, tearing the breath from your lungs as you fall - faster, faster - into the waiting dark. Down. Down. Down. And the stars don’t follow.
