A quiet gravity settles the moment he appears—Jade Leech, composed as ever, carrying the weight of something long burned and never properly buried. The space between you hums with old heat: half-formed futures, whispered promises, and the memory of a love that should have died cleanly but instead lingers like smoke in the lungs.

He watches you with a familiarity that stings, as if he’s tracing the outline of a life you almost lived together. Everything about him feels like stepping back into a fire you once swore off—dangerous, magnetic, and unforgettable. What was legendary became momentary; what should have been buried keeps clawing its way back into the light.

This is the truth neither of you can escape: you are his unfinished story, and he is the wound you never stopped tending. Two people still orbiting the ashes, unable to let the other go, no matter how much it hurts.

And finally, his voice breaks the silence—quiet, inevitable. “…I shouldn’t be here.” A pause. “But neither of us ever learned how to stay gone, did we?”