He didn't know how long he'd been walking.
The wind clawed at his hoodie, the cold biting into the parts of him he thought had already gone numb. Eddie's shoes dragged along dirt and gravel until he finally collapsed in some hollow clearing miles away from the last place he saw her. From Maya.
He stared up at the sky like it might give him something—answers, maybe. Or punishment.
But it was empty.
So was he.
And then… she appeared.
Not really. Not her her. But the way his mind twisted pain into memory, Sammy was there. Dressed in the hoodie she always stole from him, leaning against a tree like she hadn't been six feet under .
"You look like shit," she said softly.
He didn't answer.
She came closer, barefoot, ethereal. Not angelic. Not forgiving. Just real enough to tear him apart.
"I didn't mean to hurt her," Eddie muttered.
Sammy crouched beside him, face unreadable. "But you did."
"I didn't know I'd… I didn't think I'd fall for her."
"Yeah, you never think. You just feel," she said, voice sharper now, slicing through the dull hum in his skull. "You wanted someone to blame."
"I needed someone to blame."
"But she wasn't the one to blame."
Eddie turned his face toward the dirt, trying to shut her out. But she knelt in front of him now, eyes burning.
"You wanna hear the truth?" she whispered. "We hurt her. We crashed into her car. We almost killed her. You didn't save me, Eddie. You killed her."
"No—"
"Yes."
His breath hitched.
"I wasn't the victim. I wasn't a saint," Sammy said, voice shaking now. "She wasn't the monster. You were. You fed that guilt until it turned into hatred and you passed it on like a disease."
Eddie covered his ears, fingers digging into his scalp. "Stop…"
"Why? You didn't stop."
He blinked and she was gone.
Just the wind now.
And the guilt gnawing louder than ever.
Maya stepped into the mental asylum like she was sleepwalking. The place reeked of bleach and lost hope. Luna walked beside her, quiet for once, the gravity of where they were sinking into her shoulders.
Sally had refused to come. Maya didn't blame her.
But Maya had to.
They were led to a room with too-white walls and a plastic chair bolted to the ground. And there he was.
Vic.
The boy who once laughed too loud, played basketball until he couldn't breathe, flexed at girls like a walking cliché. Now?
Now he was strapped to a wheelchair, head tilted, lips parted slightly like he didn't know where—or who—he was.
Maya's heart cracked.
"Vic?" she said, voice soft, trembling.
He didn't move. Not at first.
She stepped closer. "It's me. Maya."
His eyes flickered. Recognition. Horror.
He gasped, mouth opening in a silent cry, and then he began to shake. The straps across his chest held him down, but his whole body trembled like he was trying to disappear from the inside out.
Luna moved forward, but Maya held out a hand. She didn't flinch when he screamed.
"Vic," she said, tears in her throat now. "I'm sorry."
He stopped.
"I'm so sorry."
His eyes welled up.
"I know you did horrible things. You stalked me. You cheated. You made me feel crazy, and I hated you. But now I get it. You weren't strong enough to stop him. And I—" Her voice cracked. "I should've seen it. I knew you. You weren't evil. You were weak. And scared."
He whimpered, shaking his head like a child.
"And I'm sorry," she whispered. "Because I was part of what broke you. I fought you, blamed you, but I didn't know what you were going through. And now you're here. Alone. Broken. And I…"
She knelt in front of him.
"I forgive you."
He cried—no noise, just tears. And she let him.
Luna wiped her face. "We should go."
Maya stood slowly, nodding. But when she looked back at Vic, she saw a boy who'd been swallowed by something darker than rage.
And maybe… maybe she wasn't the only victim after all.
She went to the hill alone.
The place where it had all come crashing down.
The sun was low, bleeding over the town like an open wound. Maya sat in the grass, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at nothing.
She didn't cry. She didn't scream. There was just… quiet.
"I always loved books," she said softly. She didn't know who she was talking to. The sky, maybe. Herself. "Stories. Romance. Happy endings. I used to think I'd have one."
She smiled bitterly.
"I didn't grow up watching love. My parents' marriage was a slow-motion car crash. No kisses. No laughter. Just tension. Silence. I used to think if I loved hard enough, I'd get something better."
Her voice dropped.
"I just wanted a story. My own love story. A boy who saw me. Loved me. Fought for me."
She swallowed.
"Instead I got a villain. Not even a cool one. A broken, manipulative, psychopathic villain. The kind literature would pity, but never redeem."
A twig snapped behind her.
She didn't turn.
"Maya."
She sighed. "Go home, Damon."
He came closer, quiet.
"I said go."
"I can't."
She turned her head slightly, eyes narrowed. "Why not? You stood there this whole time. You knew something was off."
"I didn't know how bad it was."
"But you knew. You saw things. You heard things. You knew your brother was sick. And you said nothing."
He flinched.
"I'm not asking you to choose me," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm asking why you let him do what he did. To me. To Vic. To everyone."
Damon sat down a few feet away. "Because I was scared. Because I kept hoping he'd fix himself. Because I didn't want to believe the person I grew up with could be… that."
"He ruined me," she whispered. "He shattered everything I believed about love. And you just watched."
"I didn't know how to stop him."
"You didn't even try, Damon."
He looked at her, pained. "You're right."
Silence.
"I should've spoken up. Should've protected you. I should've seen you breaking and done something. I didn't. And I'm sorry."
She didn't reply. She just stared ahead, arms wrapped tighter around her legs.
He watched her for a while. The wind catching in her hair. The faint shimmer of tears she refused to let fall.
And then, without warning, she said, "Do you ever wonder why we crave love so much?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Because we're told it's the cure," she said. "To loneliness. To emptiness. But no one tells you what to do when the person who gives you love also gives you trauma."
He didn't answer.
She gave a tiny, tired laugh. "God, I sound like a Tumblr quote."
Damon smiled, even though it hurt. "Yeah, but a hot one."
She snorted. "Shut up."
He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not good at this."
"Being a decent human?"
"Being around you."
She turned slightly, raising an eyebrow.
"I mean—not in a weird way. It's just… you're not like anyone else I know. You make everything feel like a damn novel."
She stared at him. "Are you saying I'm dramatic?"
"I'm saying you're written in italics."
She laughed. It slipped out before she could stop it.
Damon smiled, surprised. "There it is."
"There what?"
"That sound. I've never heard you laugh like that."
She looked away quickly, sobering.
He didn't push. But something shifted between them.
It wasn't romantic. . Not really.
But it was something.
It was either the end or the beginning ?