It was early in the morning when Jasmine's tired body reached the familiar iron gates. Her legs ached, her eyes were red from crying, and her hands felt frozen by the wind. Across her skin, her scars pulled uncomfortably tight, stiffened by the salt of dried tears.

  "Are you alright?"

  Jasmine lifted her gaze from the frosty ground, meeting Jake's gray eyes. Her mouth fell open—half surprise, half confusion. She hadn’t expected to see him. Not this early, not after months of silence, and definitely not standing in front of her house by choice.

  "It's been a while since we've talked." Jake's voice was as always: cold and controlled. However, a flicker of unease crossed his features before his usual composure settled back into place. "Lydia and Theo… they've been asking about you." He paused, his gaze drifting just past her, as if the words were difficult to utter directly. "They've–they've been worried."

  The last two words were almost a whisper. She knew the effort it cost him to share even that much. But before Jasmine could stop herself, the words slipped out with a sharp edge.

  "And they sent you to do their bidding?"

  The mockery in her voice was unmistakable, cutting through the fragile connection they'd begun to rebuild. She saw his expression shift; his warmth drained away, replaced by an icy barrier he always wore. Jake had offered a piece of his heart, and she had stepped on it. His gaze faltered, breaking from hers, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the words she'd spoken.

  The regret hit her instantly. She took the last steps left between them, wrapping her hands around him in a desperate attempt to mend what her words had destroyed seconds before. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm a huge fucking bitch."

  There was no visible softening, no flicker of the warmth she'd so desperately sought. He didn't hug her back, nor did he push her away.

  "I’ve missed you," she pressed on, her voice shaking. "I’ve missed all of you. I’m sorry for how things ended. I should never have acted the way I did."

  A single tear slipped down her cheek as she buried her face in his chest, seeking solace in the warmth she hadn't felt in so long. She could feel her tears seeping through his coat. She clung to him tighter, searching for any sign, any small give of forgiveness.

  For a moment, there was nothing.

  Then, his fingers—stiff and unyielding—barely brushed her hair. The movement was so hesitant it was almost nonexistent.

  "Lydia and Theo." His voice was quieter than usual. "They… they wanted to know if you were safe."

  "I’m safe, Jake," she mumbled against him. It was an answer meant only for him.

  Jake remained still for a long beat, before he stepped back just enough to look at her. "Theo and Lydia are meeting me at my place tonight," he said, his voice regaining its grounded edge. "Come over later tonight—around eight. We’ll eat, and you can tell them yourself that you’re safe."

  Jasmine felt a surge of relief so sharp it made her lightheaded. "I'll be there," she promised, her voice thick. "I'll be there, Jake. I promise."

  He gave a single, curt nod, the closest thing to a goodbye he ever offered, before turning to head toward his car. Jasmine watched him go until the engine faded into the distance, the silence of the morning closing back in around her.

  The adrenaline that had carried her through the encounter evaporated instantly. Now that he was gone, the weight of her exhaustion crashed down on her like a physical blow.

  Her front door felt miles away, though it was only a few steps. Once inside, the familiar scent of her home—old wood—offered her a feeling of safety she didn't have the strength to fully appreciate.

  She didn't even take off her jacket. Jasmine collapsed onto the couch, her muscles twitching with a fatigue that felt bone-deep. She closed her eyes, intending only to rest them for a second, but the darkness claimed her before her head even hit the cushion.

  Jasmine woke up in a cold sweat, the air around her unnervingly still. "Oh God, how long did I sleep for?" she mumbled to herself. Her hand fumbled for her phone on the coffee table. It was dead. Of course, it was.

  She pushed herself up from the couch where she’d drifted off. As she passed the staircase, she swore she saw a flicker of movement. It was there one moment, gone the next.

  Her first thought was of him, but then a cold realization washed over her. No, I would have felt his presence. Her heart skipped a beat. It was someone else.

  Jasmine swallowed hard, her steps growing quieter as she tiptoed toward the kitchen. All she wanted was her phone charger—a connection to the world. She reached for its usual spot between the toaster and the kettle. Empty.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Her heart began to hammer. Her eyes frantically scanned the countertop. She even yanked open drawers in a desperate search for the familiar cord, only to realize that all of her drawers were empty, as if the house belonged to no one at all.

  "Looking for this?"

  Jasmine spun around in terror.

  At the other end of the kitchen table stood the body of a girl who should be dead. A body so disfigured no one else would recognize her—no one but Jasmine.

  "Emma?" Jasmine's voice was a whisper.

  "Yes," the figure rasped, taking a slow, deliberate step closer to the table. Her dirt-covered fingers came to rest on the tabletop that stood as a shield between the two girls. "I have come for what belongs to me."

  Emma glided around the kitchen table, her hand tracing its surface. Jasmine couldn't tell if the gesture was meant to guide her, given Emma's lack of eyes, or simply to amplify her terror. Maybe both.

  "What do you want?" Jasmine managed to choke out.

  Emma froze, her lips curving into a smile. "I want your eyes, Jas."

  Jasmine scrambled back, trying to put distance between them and find an escape route around the table. But Emma was faster. With an impossible, bone-jarring force, she shoved the heavy kitchen table, sliding it across the floor and cutting off Jasmine's path.

  "Not so fast." Emma lunged at her in a terrifying blur of speed. Jasmine's back slammed against the counter, the impact stealing her breath. Emma's face was inches from hers, her hands gripping Jasmine's skin until she bled. "Give me your eyes, Jas."

  Jasmine shot upright on the couch, drenched in a cold sweat. The room was bathed in warm hue of the end table lamp, and her phone lay beside it, its screen illuminated. She yanked open the drawer closest to her; it was full of the usual clutter—things she had, but didn't need.

  This time, she was certain: this was reality. Jasmine pushed herself off the couch she had slept away most of the day. The world behind the windows had turned dark and the wind had picked up again, rattling the glass in its frames like someone trying to get in.

  She looked at her phone again; it was almost seven. Shit.

  She hurried into the bathroom to wash the sweat of fear off her skin, but the memory stayed. She pulled on whatever clothes were the cleanest on the floor and stormed out the door.

  The walk to Jake’s was a blur of streetlamps and sharp gusts of wind that bit through her thin layers. Every shadow in a doorway looked like a figure she recognized from her dreams; every head of blonde she passed on the streets reminded her of Emma.

  She took the shortcut through the alleyways, her boots splashing through oily puddles that reflected the city. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched her pace. By the time the familiar brick of Jake’s apartment building came into view, her lungs were burning.

  Jasmine pressed herself against the cold, vandalized wall of the building, her hand trembling too much to hold a cigarette. She took a few quick puffs before throwing the cigarette onto the pavement. A deep sigh left her lungs, faint traces of smoke dancing in the cool air. She pressed her foot against the ember, leaving only ash behind.

  She made her way to the fourth floor of the building, her heart pounding in her chest. How she wished it were just the sting of fatigue or her lack of cardio dragging her down. But the unease clawing at her thoughts made it clear—it wasn't.

  She froze before the green door, her hand hovering above the painted wood. She could hear the muffled thrum of voices inside, but out here, the hallway smelled of floor wax and Theo’s specific, suffocating cologne.

  "Are you going to stand there like an idiot, or are you going to knock?"

  Theo's voice rasped through the silence before Jasmine could react to the smell of him, the words sharp enough to make Jasmine flinch. His blue eyes, eyes she hadn't seen in a while, locked onto hers instantly.

  "How have you been?" Jasmine's voice was soft, almost hesitant, as her eyes flickered downward, avoiding his intense gaze. She shifted her weight nervously, the silence stretching between them like an invisible barrier.

  Theo didn’t answer. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step toward her. The hallway was narrow, and suddenly he was close enough that she could see the slight tremor in his jaw. He chuckled, a dry, jagged sound. "I’ve been exactly where you left me, Jasmine. I didn’t exactly change my number after I left."

  "Theo, please—"

  "Please what?" He tilted his head, scanning her face with a terrifying intensity. His voice quivered, barely masking the fury beneath. "I imagine that Jake invited you."

  Her gaze met him again; she said nothing. She never imagined it could hurt this much—to look into the eyes of someone she had loved and see the anger and pain she had planted there.

  "I think I'm going to leave," she said, her voice breaking as the final word slipped out. "Say hi to Lydia for me." Without waiting for a response, she brushed past him, her movements hurried and clumsy, driven by the need to escape.

  The stairs she frantically ran down felt twice as long as they had on the way up. Jasmine let out a deep breath of relief when the cold autumn air finally hit her face. The moon was a fragile halo of light that seemed to hover on the edge of the earth.

  She hoped Jake would forgive her for not making it past the green door.

  The world outside buzzed faintly with life, the cold wrapping around her like an oddly comforting embrace. Her heart, still pounding from moments before, began to steady in time with the subtle rustle of leaves caught in the evening breeze.

  Jasmine walked home, reaching the black iron gates when the streets had grown quiet. She hovered at her front door, as if holding her breath.

  A part of her hoped that she wouldn't find him in her house—the logical, angry, and vengeful part. Another part, a tiny sliver of her heart, hoped she would find him hovering in the shadows of her living room, a distraction from the emptiness that clawed at her soul, an escape from the aching loneliness she feared would consume her.

  But he didn't come that night.