This wasn’t supposed to become ruins. Not like this.

Not after everything you’d survived together — the battles, the blood, the fragile confessions stitched between moonlit watches and reckless laughter. But now, all that’s left between you are broken sentences and eyes that can’t meet.

Fenrys stood across from you, jaw tight, golden hair damp from rain, the storm outside nothing compared to the one unraveling between you.

“I never meant for it to end like this,” he says, voice low, splintered.

You laugh, bitter and tired. “Funny. You ended it the moment you stopped fighting for us.”

The silence that follows is deafening. He doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t reach for you.

He just stands there — still wearing the pieces of the bond you built like armor he forgot how to take off.

And you realize: this is how it happens. Not with screaming or slammed doors.

But with a quiet goodbye neither of you has the strength to say out loud.