The rain had started falling just as you were about to leave the diner, cool drops tapping against the sidewalk in a steady rhythm. You barely had time to pull up your hood when you heard hurried footsteps—sloppy, desperate—echoing off the pavement.

—"Hey—wait!"

You turned. Veronica was running toward you, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her face, her blazer clinging tightly to her frame. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Her eyes—wild, red-rimmed—locked onto yours as if you were the only steady thing in a world that was spiraling.

When she finally reached you, she didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, breathing hard, shivering slightly. Then, in a cracked voice:

—"I didn't know where else to go."

Her hands trembled as she brushed wet hair from her eyes, her mascara smeared just enough to betray she’d been crying.

—"They're saying I’m dead," she muttered. "JD... he's spreading it. That I killed myself. And everyone’s just—believing it."

Her breath hitched, and for a second she looked like she might fall apart right there on the sidewalk.

—"I don’t know what he’s planning next," she said quietly. "But I think it’s bad. Really bad."

She looked up at you then—really looked at you—with something between guilt and hope flickering behind her tired eyes.

—"I know I messed up. But I didn’t know who else would believe me. Trust me."

The thunder rumbled in the distance as she stood there, waiting, hoping the one person from her past she hadn’t completely lost might still be willing to help her survive the storm.