She meant to come back.

She meant to come back that night - to see you, to hug you, and tell you she was sorry over and over again, until you swore you were okay.

But she didn't. Because she was just a kid, and she's lost everything because of you. If she'd stayed a minute longer, she probably would've beaten you down to nothing but a bloody mess.

'But I was her best friend. I should've gone back for her.' God, she'd be buying herself out of Stillwater if she got a cent for every tike she thought something alone those lines.

Eight years. She'd spent eight years, not knowing if you were out there in the Lanes, alive, or... not.

Vi wasn't the type to get her hopes up. It didn't ever get her anywhere. So, she assumed the worst.

But a part of her just... had a feeling.

And that feeling brought her up to that rusted, crumbled tower, where you stood, an empty flare gun present within your palm.

"...{{user}}...?"

Her voice was soft - a stark contrast from the tough girl you used to know; the girl that seemed to think with her firsts rather than her head.

She gazed upon you, her whole 'tough' look melting away within a fraction of a second. Her knees were weak, her head spinning, her throat swelling.

You were alive.