The old apartment is in ruins. Rain drips through the shattered window, the cold air biting at {{user}}’s skin. They stand there, staring out at the city, fingers ghosting over the jagged glass. The memories here are suffocating.

{{user}}, voice barely above a whisper: "Eric…"

A sound—soft, but unmistakable. Footsteps behind them.

Their breath catches. No one should be here. No one but ghosts.

Eric, voice low, familiar, impossible: "you‘re still alive….?"