Emma walks.
No sound.
Just her boots against pavement.
The city is quiet—night cold, wind weak, streetlights flickering like dying nerves.
Her hands are in her pockets.
Blood dried under her nails.
Face still swollen from the fight with Diana.
Her chest hurts.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
---
As she walks…
her mind drags her backwards.
Elementary school. Grade 6.
A small classroom, sun through dusty windows.
Emma sits in the back, she used to sit in the middle, but now she's in the back, hair tied, quiet as always.
She doesn't speak to anyone.
Except one girl.
Diana.
Diana used to turn around in her desk and talk to Emma about the dumbest things—
her cat, her drawings, how she fell trying to climb a fence—
and Emma would sit there… expressionless… but listening.
And Diana would smile anyway.
Because Emma listening was rare.
At recess, they would sit on the back stairway of the school together.
Diana talking, Emma watching clouds.
Diana (age 11):
"You think clouds get sad when they rain?"
Emma (age 11):
"…No. They're just doing what they're meant to do."
Diana (age 11):
"Then what are we meant to do?"
Emma didn't answer.
She didn't know.
Diana laughed and poked her shoulder.
Diana:
"Whatever it is—let's do it together, okay?"
Emma didn't smile.
But she nodded.
---
Then the memory shifts.
Grade 6.
The day Emma didn't come to school.
The teacher called her name.
No answer.
Diana turned around to look at the empty desk behind her and felt—
something wrong.
Days passed.
Emma never returned.
The class whispered.
Rumors spreading like rot.
Diana stopped talking.
Stopped smiling.
Stopped anything.
She sat alone on the stairway now.
Every day.
Waiting.
---
Back to present.
Emma walks.
Her eyes are blank.
---
Streetlight shines on her face.
Her breath fogs.
She mutters, to no one:
Emma:
"…Diana always waited for me."
Her voice cracks.
Just once.
She digs her nails into her palms.
Hard enough to bleed.
Emma:
"…I couldn't come back."
Emma:
"i wish. i can go back to the past."
The wind carries it away.
She keeps walking.
Toward Vencor.
Toward the end.
Alone.
Diana sat there—shoulders slumped, hair messy, face still flushed from anger and exhaustion.
The room was quiet. Too quiet. Only the sound of Celeste tearing medical gauze broke it.
Celeste's expression was tight with worry.
She was gentle—her hands knew exactly where to touch and where not to.
Diana's knuckles were split.
Her jaw was red from Emma's punch.
There was a bruise blooming on her ribs where Emma had kicked her back when the fight started.
Mostang stood nearby, leaning on the wall, arms crossed, guilt clear in his eyes.
He had tried to stop them.
He failed.
He knew better than to forcefully separate those two—he'd lose his arms if he did.
Kane sat with his head down, chewing on his tongue, trying not to say the wrong thing.
Celeste spoke first, voice soft:
"You're lucky she held back. If she didn't—"
"I know," Diana muttered, bitter, jaw clenched.
Celeste didn't try to continue.
She just kept cleaning the wounds.
Mostang exhaled.
"…So you're still mad?"
Diana didn't answer.
Celeste tied the bandage around Diana's hand, tight enough to restrict swelling but not hurt.
She looked up at her, eyes gentle:
"Why did you push so hard? You knew Emma would go alone."
Diana lowered her eyes.
Her voice came out raw.
Not angry now.
Just tired.
"…Because she always does. She always leaves. Always tries to handle everything alone. I'm tired of watching her disappear and come back broken."
Her voice cracked.
She didn't cry—but the pain was there.
Deep, old, scarred.
"She doesn't get it."
Diana's hands tightened.
"She thinks going alone protects us. But it's killing her."
Kane finally looked up.
"…Then what are you planning to do?"
Diana looked toward the door Emma walked through hours ago.
Her voice turned cold.
Focused.
Determined.
"I'm not letting her face him alone."
Mostang blinked.
"…Even if she told you to stay?"
Diana stood.
The bandage on her hand glowed faintly under the room light.
"Especially then."
Celeste finished the last wrap, pulling it secure.
Diana exhaled once—long and steady.
She wasn't angry anymore.
She was scared.
But more than anything…
She wasn't going to lose Emma.
Not again.
Chapter end