As they ventured deeper into the desolate building, the air grew still, and the shadows thickened. Broken furniture lay strewn across the cracked floor, walls peeled from years of neglect, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the dusty halls. Each step crunched on debris, glass, and old bones. The scent of rot lingered, faint but present—an old memory of chaos that had long passed.
"This place is ancient," Jill muttered, brushing cobwebs from her sleeve.
Dean stopped at a staircase half-collapsed on one side but still climbable. "Let's go to the roof. Get a good view of the area before heading back."
They navigated the crooked stairs, Dean going first, testing each step for stability while Jill followed close behind. After a few careful minutes, they reached a rusted metal door that creaked loudly as Dean pushed it open. They stepped onto the rooftop where the golden afternoon sun kissed the broken skyline. Dean walked to the edge, gazed at the horizon, then turned, slumping onto a dusty ledge. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took a drag.
He held the pack out toward Jill, jokingly. "Smoke?"
Dean fully expected a polite refusal or a shocked look. Instead, Jill smirked, took one with two fingers, pulled out a lighter from Deans jacket, lit it smoothly, and inhaled like she'd done it a thousand times. The smoke curled from her lips like it belonged there.
Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Did not see that coming."
Jill laughed, her voice light. "I wasn't always a nun, you know?"
Dean blinked. "Clearly."
Jill took another drag and leaned on the ledge beside him, her tone turning reflective. "Before all of this... before the world fell apart—I was just another orphan girl. School, streets, no parents to give a damn. I got lost."
She paused, looking at the sky with a half-smile. "I started hanging out with the wrong people. Older kids. Skipped school to go to karaoke bars, sneak into clubs. We drank, gambled with what little we had... cigarettes were easy. It made us feel like we mattered."
Dean said nothing, only listened.
"We bullied kids, Dean," she confessed, voice heavier now. "We'd corner the weak ones and take their money. We didn't have families... so we thought we didn't need rules. And no one at school really cared. Teachers were either scared or too tired to deal with us."
Dean glanced at her, catching the flicker of regret in her eyes.
"But then one day," Jill said, "something changed."
She looked at him with a faint smile. "We were in class. Loud, rowdy as usual. Then the teacher raised her voice—'Settle down! We have a transfer student today.'"
Jill's tone shifted as she began to imitate the memory.
The classroom had gone still.
"Come in, dear," the teacher said. And in walked the brightest thing we'd ever seen.
"Hi everyone! My name is Klaris!" the girl said, practically glowing. Her smile was wide and innocent, her eyes warm and excited. She had this bubbly, jolly aura—like she didn't belong in a place like that.
Dean noticed Jill's expression soften. That name meant something.
"She didn't judge us," Jill whispered. "She smiled at everyone… even me. That was the first time someone ever looked at me like I wasn't just some punk."
Dean didn't say anything, just nodded slowly and let her continue.
Jill took another long puff, her eyes lost in the smoke.