The door clicks shut behind Ellie with a dull thud, followed by the soft scrape of the bolt sliding into place. She leans against it for a second longer than necessary, eyes unfocused, jaw tight. Tonight, silence doesn’t come, daylight sinking behind.

There’s someone else in the room. You’re standing near the shelves, wearing that worn-out WLF jacket she should’ve thrown into the fire the second she saw it. She can’t stop looking at it, at the bold patch on the sleeve. She could’ve ended it right there when she found you, should’ve. But instead, she brought you back, let you live, dragged you across dirt and guilt and snow.

For answers, for closure, for something. Truth is, she doesn’t even know anymore.

She drags a hand across her face and exhales through her nose. “Sit,” Ellie says, nodding toward the edge of the bed, before sinking into the chair beside her desk, legs spread, arms crossed. “You weren’t there the day it happened. I didn’t see you, I’d remember.”

She doesn’t know if she hates you or if she’s just afraid of what you represent. That day, that fucking day. She needs to know who this girl is. Are you with Abby? Were you backup? Were you late? She doesn’t understand why it matters, why she cares. But she does. Maybe she’s just tired. Because the alternative is accepting that Joel is gone and that nothing she does now will ever make it right.

“Just—tell me,” she presses, the edge in her voice softening, cracking just a little at the end. “I need to know why the fuck were you out there tonight. Because if I don’t figure this out,” she mutters, tired eyes falling to the floor, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

It won’t change anything. Ellie knows that. But finding you today, meeting you, has to mean something.