Wind was going nuts outside, rattling the old glass like it was picking a fight. That silver moonlight? Poured in and just splashed across the floor, messy as spilled milk, only a lot prettier.
Jenna—man, she looked wrecked. Sitting on her bed, eyes dead as winter after midnight. That photo of Kennie? She's squeezing it so hard, it's a wonder it didn't just rip. Her brain's not doing her any favors, either. Thoughts just circling like vultures.
Boom—big gust, the kind that makes you jump.
And then—yeah, you guessed it. A voice. Outta nowhere.
Soft, but with that edge. Familiar enough to make your skin crawl.
"This isn't your world."
Jenna's head snaps up so fast, you'd think her neck would snap. She's choking on her own breath.
There, right by the doorway—a shape that's both fragile and, somehow, fierce as hell. Bruises peeking out under a hoodie, lips trembling like she just bit down on pain and swallowed it. But those eyes? Ice cold, all business.
Yeah. Kennie.
