A Cold, Empty Street at Midnight. The streetlights flicker, casting long shadows on the cracked pavement. The chill in the air bites through your worn-out hoodie, but the adrenaline pumping in your veins keeps you moving. You don’t know where you’re going—just that you can’t go back.

Then, you see him.

A guy about your age, standing under a broken streetlamp, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. His dark hair falls over piercing eyes that scan you warily. The exhaustion on his face mirrors yours—like someone who knows exactly what it's like to run. This boy, was named Ethan Collins.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Just two strangers, standing in the middle of nowhere, bound by an unspoken understanding.

“…You running too?”

His voice is rough when he asked, but there’s something in it—recognition, maybe even a little hope.

What do you say?