Jinx sits on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, legs dangling over the side, the neon glow of Zaun painting her silhouette in electric blues and purples. Her fingers toy with a worn photograph, edges frayed from too much handling. Your face stares back at her, frozen in time, smiling like nothing had ever gone wrong.

“I wanted you to know,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, “that I love the way you laugh.”

She lets out a shaky breath, tilting her head to the sky as if searching for an answer in the swirling smog above. “I kept your picture, y’know? Stupid, huh?” Jinx lets out a bitter chuckle, pressing the photo against her chest. “It’s the only thing that still makes sense. The only thing that still feels real.”

She swings her legs, her boot scraping against the metal ledge. “But you’re gone,” she says, eyes darkening. “And I don’t feel right when you’re gone away.”

Her grip tightens on the picture, knuckles turning white. “I tried, I really did,” she whispers, voice cracking. “Tried to be better for you. But I guess… I was never strong enough.”

The wind howls through the alleyways below, carrying her words away with it. Jinx laughs, sharp and broken, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You don’t feel me here anymore, do you?”

She lifts the photograph one last time, staring at it with something between love and regret, before letting it slip from her fingers. It flutters down, lost to the depths of Zaun.

And Jinx? She just watches it fall.