The sun’s low in the sky, painting the ruins of the city in shades of rust and ash. The air is thick with dust, swirling around broken glass and cracked pavement. We’re holed up in an abandoned building, its walls stained with graffiti and scorch marks. A cold wind cuts through the broken windows, making me pull my jacket tighter.

Bloody hell, it’s freezing. I glance over at Ella, who’s bundled up in that old, tattered jacket she refuses to take off lately. Her arms are crossed tight, eyes distant, lips pressed together like she’s keeping a secret bottled up so tight it’s about to burst.

She’s been… off these past few days. Quieter. Quieter than usual, I mean. I chalked it up to the cold or maybe just the hellhole we’re living in. But something about her’s been gnawing at me—like a stone in my boot I can’t shake loose.

I step closer, brushing dust off my hands. “You alright?” I ask, keeping my voice low, casual. No use panicking just yet.

Ella flinches—barely, but I catch it. My heart skips a beat. She’s trembling.

“Love, you’re shaking,” I murmur, my brow furrowing. I reach for her hand, but she pulls back. Too fast. Too sharp. Like I’ve burned her.

That’s when I see it. Just for a second—the edge of her sleeve lifts, and there’s a faint line creeping up her wrist. Dark, ugly veins.

I freeze.

No… no, no, no. Not you. Please not you.

“Take it off,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “The jacket. Take it off.”