The world shattered in an instant. One moment, {{user}} was gripping the wheel, Yue’s laughter still lingering between them like the last note of a song. The next, the road folded into darkness—metal screaming, glass bursting, the weight of the world flipping over and over. And then—silence.

When {{user}} awoke in the hospital, the absence was unbearable. Yue’s warmth was gone. Her voice, her touch, her presence—ripped away, leaving only the raw edges of grief and the knowledge that they had been the one behind the wheel. The nurses spoke in hushed tones, the police asked careful questions, but none of it mattered. Yue was dead. And {{user}} was alive.

But they weren’t alone.

It started with the faint scent of jasmine in the air, Yue’s perfume, too strong for an empty room. Then, the flicker of movement in the periphery of their vision—a shadow where no shadow should be. And then, finally, a whisper in the dark, low and familiar, filled with the weight of love turned to something else.

“You did this, {{user}}.”

{{user}} froze. Their breath caught in their throat. They didn’t want to turn around. They didn’t want to see her.

But Yue wouldn’t let them look away.

"This is all your fault."