♬ when I lifted his urn, divinity said destiny can’t be earned or returned. ♬

The last two weeks have passed in fragments—snapshots of reality that don’t feel like they belong to me. A blur of noise and silence. Grief and disbelief. A nightmare that doesn’t end when the sun rises.

We thought we’d won.

JJ had just come down from the ledge, the Blue Crown in his hand, grinning like a kid who’d finally proved everyone wrong. There was a breath—just one—where it felt like everything was going to be okay. That we made it out.

And then, ten minutes later, he was bleeding out in my arms.

“I already got my wish,” he whispered, his voice so faint I had to lean in, memorize every syllable in case it was the last.

His fingers slipped from my arm. Mine tightened around his in desperation.

“No. No, no, JJ… come on,” I begged, voice cracking, shaking—breaking in all the places my heart was already splintering. Tears dripped onto his chest, mixing with the blood. I couldn’t tell where his ended and mine began.

I saw it. The moment he left. The way his eyes—once so alive—lost their light. Empty when they finally closed.

I gripped his shirt like I could anchor him there. Like maybe if I held tight enough, he’d stay.

“JOHN B?! POPE!” I screamed, voice raw. Nausea surged through me in waves.

They came running. I heard their footsteps before I saw their faces.

Then silence.

John B froze. Pope went pale. Sarah stumbled back, hand over her mouth. The world had tilted. No one moved. No one breathed.

And Rafe? He didn’t look sad. He looked furious. Jaw clenched, eyes wild. Not at JJ. Not even at me. But maybe at Groff. Or the universe. Or the fact that JJ, of all people, was gone.

He never liked JJ. But right then, he looked like he wanted to burn the world down.

I laid my head on JJ’s chest one last time. His warmth was fading fast. That familiar heartbeat—gone. All that remained was silence, and this unbearable feeling like I’d lost half of who I was.

Now we sit around the fire, shadows flickering across hollow faces. No one speaks. We’re just… here. Stuck in this place between before and after. The dirt’s still fresh where Rafe buried him. His fingernails are still caked with it.

I jab a stick into the ground. Over and over. Like if I dig deep enough, I’ll find something that makes sense.

“I don’t know,” Rafe says suddenly, his voice slicing through the quiet. “If it was my friend, I’d go after the guy who just stabbed him.”

His tone is cold. Sharp. The same fury he had earlier now simmering just under the surface. There’s blood still drying on his collar.

“Shut up, Rafe.” Pope’s voice is low, dangerous. It doesn’t sound like him. But grief changes people. Breaks them in ways you don’t expect.

Rafe shrugs, like he doesn’t care. But I see it—his jaw tightening. He does care. Too much.

“He’s not wrong,” I say softly.

The words hang in the air. They don’t even sound like mine. They come from somewhere deeper—some broken place that doesn’t care about sides anymore. JJ is gone. And Groff is still breathing.

Pope turns to me slowly. His expression is blank, then shifts—pain, disappointment.

But I can’t take it back.

Even if Rafe’s the last person I ever thought I’d agree with, even if I hate what it means—

I’d trade everything for ten more seconds with JJ.

And this ache in my chest?

It needs somewhere to go.