The rain hadn't stopped all morning. It drummed against my window like a thousand impatient fingers, echoing the mess in my head. I hadn't slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, Ethan's face showed up, and I hated that it still made my chest ache.
I pulled the blanket closer, half-wrapped like a child hiding from monsters that were not under my bed but inside my heart. My phone buzzed again. I ignored it. Probably a message from Claire reminding me about the gallery event tonight. Or maybe my landlord asking when I'd finally pay the rest of last month's rent.
I didn't want to deal with any of it.
But the buzzing wouldn't stop.
With a sigh, I reached for the phone, wiping my sleepy eyes. Then I froze.
Ethan.
The name glared at me from the screen like a ghost. My heart forgot how to beat for a second.
I stared, waiting for the text to disappear. Maybe I was imagining things again, like those nights I thought I heard his voice in my sleep. But the message was real. Simple. Short.
Can we talk?
Just that. Four words. Four heavy, unwanted words.
My stomach twisted. He had no right to reach out after vanishing like he did. After leaving me with all that silence.
I dropped the phone on the bed and pressed my palms over my face. "Don't do this, Emily," I whispered to myself. "Don't you dare fall back into that."
But I picked the phone up again anyway.
The words didn't change. They just sat there, pulsing faintly on the screen. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but I couldn't type. I didn't even know what I would say. What do you want, Ethan? or maybe Haven't you done enough already?
My throat tightened. I set the phone aside again and pushed myself off the bed. The floor was cold. My coffee from earlier had gone stale, but I drank it anyway, hoping the bitterness would wake me up—or numb me enough to forget that message.
Outside, the rain softened. The city lights blinked through the fog like fading memories. I thought about that night—our last night together—when Ethan said nothing and everything at once. The look in his eyes, that quiet apology he never spoke out loud. I'd spent weeks pretending I didn't miss him, but every small thing—his favorite song, the way my name sounded when he said it—came back like a cruel echo.
I hated that part the most. How much space he still took up even when he was gone.
Another message came through. I didn't want to check, but I did.
I know I hurt you. Please. Just one chance.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. One chance? As if chances grew on trees. As if I hadn't already given him enough.
I typed a reply—deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again. My chest felt too tight to breathe. Finally, I tossed the phone on the table and grabbed my coat.
If I stayed here another second, I'd break.
The café near the park was half-empty, just the way I liked it. I sat by the window, tracing the rim of my cup with my finger while my thoughts drifted back to him. The steam from the coffee fogged the glass. Outside, a couple ran through the drizzle, laughing like they didn't have a care in the world. I wondered when I stopped laughing like that.
"Emily?"
That voice.
I turned sharply. My pulse jumped before I could control it.
Ethan stood there—wet hair, dark jacket clinging to his shoulders, eyes carrying that same quiet storm that always made me weak. For a second, I forgot to breathe.
"What are you doing here?" My voice came out smaller than I meant it to.
"I texted," he said softly. "You didn't reply."
"So you thought showing up uninvited was a good idea?"
He looked down, like he deserved that. Maybe he did. But still, seeing him there—it hurt in ways I couldn't name.
"I just wanted to explain," he said after a long pause. "I should have come sooner."
I laughed bitterly. "You think that makes it better?"
"No," he admitted. "But I can't stand you hating me."
"Hating you would be easier," I said before I could stop myself. The words came out sharp and trembling. "At least it would mean I could forget you."
He stepped closer, eyes searching mine. "Then don't forget me."
"Ethan…" I took a step back, but the wall caught me. I hated how easily he could still corner my heart with a few words.
He sighed and rubbed his face. "I messed up, Emily. I didn't mean to walk away like that. I had to protect you."
"From what? From you?" My voice cracked. "Because that's what it felt like."
His jaw tightened. "From something bigger than both of us."
I frowned. "What are you talking about?"
He looked around the café, his tone dropping low. "It's not safe to talk here."
I almost laughed. "Oh, please. Don't start with your mysterious act again."
But he wasn't joking. His expression was dead serious. He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. "They're watching again."
My stomach knotted. "Who?"
He didn't answer. Just slipped a small folded paper onto the table between us. "Meet me tonight. The old pier, by the water."
Before I could respond, he was already heading for the door.
"Ethan!" I called out, but the sound of the rain swallowed my voice. He didn't look back.
I stared at the paper, fingers shaking. My heart raced, not because of love this time—but fear. I unfolded it slowly. Just an address, scribbled in his handwriting. And one more line beneath it.
Don't tell anyone. They'll know.
The letters blurred as I read them again and again. It felt like the ground under me wasn't real anymore.
By the time I got home, the streetlights were already flickering. The city looked darker than usual, as if the rain had stolen its color. I paced around my room, the paper still in my hand.
I told myself not to go. That I'd be stupid to walk into whatever game he was playing. But my feet moved anyway, driven by something my brain couldn't fight—curiosity… or maybe that old piece of me that still cared.
When I reached the pier, the air was cold and sharp. Waves slammed against the rocks, scattering white foam into the night. The wind carried that salty chill that burned my throat when I breathed.
"Ethan?" My voice trembled in the dark.
Nothing.
I walked farther down the wooden planks. My phone's flashlight shook in my hand. The water roared beneath me.
Then I saw it—a shadow at the edge of the pier, half-hidden by mist.
"Ethan?" I called again.
The shadow moved. A figure turned toward me.
But it wasn't him.
It was someone else. Someone I'd never seen before. A tall man in a dark coat, face half-lit by the weak light of the pier lamp.
He stepped closer. "You shouldn't be here, Miss Collins."
I froze. "Who are you?"
He didn't answer. His hand slid into his coat pocket.
I took a step back, heart hammering. "Where's Ethan?"
The man's lips curved in a faint, cold smile. "You really shouldn't have come."
Before I could move, a loud crack split the air—sharp, echoing across the water. My flashlight fell, rolling across the wood. The last thing I saw was the man's silhouette fading into the mist as my vision blurred and everything went black.