Evan swayed at the cliff's edge, the wind pulling at his clothes with relentless force. Below, the ocean churned against the rocks, each wave crashing with an intensity that seemed to resonate with his hesitation. The air was thick with salt and dampness, stinging his eyes and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, as though it carried the weight of all his mistakes.
This was it—no more fighting, no more failure. The weight of it pressed down, heavy and final.
The group of friends that had promised him escape and freedom had left him with nothing but debt and shattered promises. They were gone, disappearing into shadows that left him alone to face the aftermath.
Before them, there was his father—angry fists, shouting, drinking. The memories were sharp, the kind that clung to him: nights spent hiding in his room, muffled sounds of rage echoing through the house, bruises mottling his skin in painful shades of purple and blue. His mother had been there too, but her silence was almost worse. She never intervened, never spoke up, only watched with hollow eyes.
He'd left that house years ago, convinced something better lay beyond its walls. For a while, it felt true. The runaway group had seemed like salvation—an escape, a sense of belonging he'd yearned for. Jason was charismatic and confident, promising a fresh start. But those promises had turned to ash, and Jason, like everyone else, had vanished when things got hard. There was no "better"—only this: standing alone at the edge of the world.
One step, and it would all end.
His breath caught as he leaned forward, the tips of his shoes hovering over the edge. But just as he teetered, a cold hand seized his wrist, yanking him back with sudden, unyielding strength.
He stumbled, crashing to his knees. Dazed, he looked up and saw her—a woman standing over him, her expression a mixture of curiosity and something colder. Dark hair framed her face in loose waves, but it was her gaze that held him. Sharp, calculating, like she could see straight into his mind. Her skin was a rich, deep brown, and her lips were set in a line that was neither kind nor cruel—just cold.
"Did you think you could just jump off?" she asked, her voice as level as her gaze.
"Speak," she commanded, her tone edged with a quiet authority.
Evan blinked, struggling to process what had just happened. "W-What?"
"I said speak," she repeated, her grip still firm on his wrist, her eyes narrowing as if she were assessing him, sizing him up.
Evan swallowed hard, trying to shake off the confusion. "I—" His voice cracked, raw from the weight of everything he hadn't said aloud. "There's nothing left. Everyone's gone."
She didn't respond immediately. She just stared at him with those unnerving eyes, as if she already knew every thought circling his mind. There was no sympathy there, only a sharp, inscrutable darkness that made his skin crawl.
"Everyone ?" she asked, not with curiosity, but as if confirming a fact she already knew. It wasn't a question; it was just an observation.
Evan tensed, realizing she wasn't surprised by his answer. He had expected a stranger to ask more, to try to understand. But she didn't. She simply let his words hang in the air, as though they were unimportant.
Finally, she released his wrist, standing up and brushing off her coat. "Get up."
He blinked, unsettled by her sudden command, but something in her tone left no room for refusal. He pushed himself to his feet, his knees trembling.
"Come with me," she said, turning her back and starting to walk away as if she already knew he would follow.
"Why?" The question slipped out before he could stop it. "Why did you stop me?"
She paused, glancing back just slightly. Her lips curled into a small, unreadable smile. "Why not?" she said, her tone flat, devoid of meaning.
Evan didn't understand her, not really, but he felt a strange pull toward her. He trailed behind her, the cliffs and waves shrinking in the distance as they walked in silence. The streetlights cast long shadows as they passed through empty streets. There was no conversation, no effort to break the silence. She walked with the confidence of someone who didn't care whether he followed or not.
After what felt like an hour, they arrived at a small, dilapidated apartment near the shore. The paint was peeling, and the windows were fogged over. She opened the door without hesitation, motioning for him to follow.
Inside, the house was sparsely furnished—bare walls, a few pieces of worn furniture, and a single dim light in the corner. It wasn't much, but it was shelter.
"You can stay, if you wish. I take care of my own."
Evan blinked at her choice of words. My own. He wasn't sure what she meant, but something about the way she said it made his skin prickle. She turned to leave without giving him a chance to question it.
Before stepping outside, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Stay put. I won't be long."
And then she was gone, leaving him alone in the empty room.
Evan sank down onto the couch, feeling the rough, faded fabric beneath his fingertips, the stale scent of old wood settling around him. His mind buzzed with questions, each one swallowed by the silence she'd left behind. He didn't know what he'd just stepped into—didn't know who she was or why she had stopped him. And yet, as he sat there, surrounded by shadows that danced along the walls, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: the strange, unwanted sense of belonging.
Her words echoed in his mind. "I take care of my own." The phrase was heavy, carrying a meaning he couldn't quite grasp. My own. He didn't know what that meant—whether he was a guest, a project, or something else entirely. But the way she had said it, the way she had looked at him, left him with a feeling that was equal parts fear and fascination.
He should have been more afraid. Part of him was. But another part—a part he'd never known—felt compelled, like he'd been standing at that edge not to end things, but to be found.