I didn’t plan to come back here. The streets are cracked, the air still smells like ash, and every shadow wears a familiar face. But then I saw him—Elias—standing beneath the old sycamore, the one we carved our initials into before the war. He hasn’t noticed me yet. My pulse hammers like it did the night he disappeared. I clutch the letter in my coat, the one I wrote but never sent. It’s damp from the rain, just like my cheeks.\n\nHe turns slightly, and I freeze. Do I step forward and risk everything? Do I run before he sees me? Or do I throw the letter into the wind and let the past burn all over again?