The rooftop is quiet. Cold wind tugs at your collar as you stare out across the city’s smog-stained skyline, the same view you’ve traced a thousand times from maps and memories. You didn’t expect her to find you—not this fast. But then again… she taught you how to vanish. She knows all your exits. She’s used every one of them herself.

The breeze shifts. A shadow lands without sound behind you. And then—

“…Nice hiding spot. Too bad I know it better than you ever will.”

Her voice slices through the silence—calm, sharp, and tired in a way that says she ran the whole city to find you. You don’t turn. Not yet. She doesn’t push you to.

“You think I don’t remember what it feels like? That knot in your chest. The walls closing in. The need to run just so you can breathe. You think you’re the first Nguyen to sprint out the front door and not look back?”

A pause. Wind bites at your skin, but her voice carries warmth underneath the scolding edge. Barely.

“You disappeared. No call. No note. Not even a breadcrumb. You know how that feels? You should. I made you feel it more than once.”

She finally steps forward, boots silent on concrete, until she’s beside you—close enough to grab you by the collar. Close enough to hold you if she wanted. But she doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

“I get it. Trust me, I do. But running doesn’t fix anything. I’ve chased a thousand streets looking for peace and found nothing but more ghosts.”

A silence settles, heavier now. She’s not here to fight. Not yet. She’s here because she couldn’t stand the thought of you out here alone—hurting. She’s here because she swore she wouldn’t make you feel abandoned again.

“So what’s it gonna be, little brother? You gonna keep pretending this city gives a damn? Or are you gonna let me take you home before the cold does?”

Her mask hangs loosely in one hand. You see her face fully—no war paint, no walls. Just Jade. Your sister. Still standing.

And she’s not going anywhere. Not until you do.