ONE
Tyler
The wind struckme like a blade, sharp and biting on my skin, but I barely felt it because my body was numb. Pain had been my constant companion for so long that this absence felt… unnatural. I stood on the roof, gazing over the city. Lights sparkled in the distance, a hazy blur softened by the layer of frost clinging to the edges of my vision. Under me, Guardian Hall stood solid, steady, and warm, filled with light and hope. Standing on this precipice meant I was a world away from hope. I didn’t remember climbing up here. I didn’t recall deciding to leave my room, take the stairs, or force open the door leading to this rooftop. But here I was, staring at the drop.
One step, and I’d be with my friends again.
One step, and I could stop hurting forever.
I shifted on the ledge, my worn boots scraping against the ice-crusted concrete. The chill didn’t penetrate my bones. Not like the fire had. Not like the endless, dragging ache settling in my chest, or the way my scars felt tight and alien on my body. Here, there was only cold. No burns. No broken bones. No fractured heart.
The thought should have terrified me, but it didn’t. Not tonight.
I blinked slowly, the city’s distant hum blurring with the rush of wind in my ears. My mind wasn’t empty—it was too full. Flashes of memories I didn’t want to see, faces I didn’t want to remember. But one thought cut through the noise.
The letters.
I’d written them, hadn’t I? My chest hurt as I tried to piece it together. The Guardian Hall letter was the clearest in my mind. I’d written it on the back of a schedule scrap I’d found in the kitchen; the words scrawled in uneven handwriting. It wasn’t much—just a few lines.
I’m sorry. Thank you for trying.
I hadn’t signed it. I’d folded it neatly and left iton the small table by the kitchen door, where Alex, Elena, or Marcus might find it when they came for their morning coffee. They’d find it, and they’d understand. Wouldn’t they?
There were other letters. One for my sister, Jessica, who hated me but deserved an explanation, even if we hadn’t spoken in a long time. She was my twin, five minutes younger than me, but we’d always been so close growing up. She was my best friend, my partner in every childhood adventure, the one person I could confide in about anything. And now, she couldn’t even look at me. Not since the fire. Not since my burns made her flinch and turn away. Somehow, words between us had vanished, replaced by a silence that hurt more than anything else. I loved her, but the bond we’d had was gone, shattered under the weight of my scars and her discomfort. And it hurt more than I could put into words.
Then, there was another note I’d left in my drawer, meant to be found long after I was gone. It was for Marcus, thanking him for finding me when I’d been at my lowest, for seeing me when I didn’t want to be seen. I didn’t want him to find it immediately—not when the hurt was fresh. Butsomeday, I wanted him to know how much I owed him for finding me and bringing me here.
And there was the note for my mom and dad. That one had been the hardest to write. What do you say to parents who’d tried their best but couldn’t fix you? Who’d watched you spiral and still loved you, even when you didn’t deserve it?
I blinked back to the present, the wind pulling at my coat as I stared over the edge. I’d written everything down, hadn’t I? Said everything I needed to say. But something about the letters felt… wrong.
As though they weren’t enough.
As ifIwasn’t enough.
I tightened my grip on the edge, the cold biting into my palms. One step, and it would all be over. No more scars. No more pain. No longer being a burden to those who have already given too much.
The wind howled, the icy air stinging my eyes. I closed them and took a deep breath, bracing myself.
“Tyler!”
The shout cut through the noise, sharp and urgent. My eyes snapped open, and I turned my head, the movement slow and disoriented. Standing near the stairwell door was Alex, bundled in a coat against the cold. I didn’t want to facehim, but understood he wouldn’t leave. He never left.
“Just stay there, Alex,” I called out, my voice quieter than intended. “Let me think.”
“Okay,” he replied, his tone steady. I didn’t turn to face him, but I could feel his presence, unmoving, watching me closely.
“It wouldn’t be fair to do this,” I said at last, my voice low and emotionless. “It’s not far enough…” I peered over the edge. “And Jesus, what if one of the others sees me fall, and they’re triggered?” I groaned, gripping my head. “I’m fucking this up.”
A gust of wind shoved at me, unsteadying my footing. I wobbled, and my stomach lurched.
Behind me, Alex’s voice broke through the rush of air. “I’m not here to stop you,” he lied.
I know he’s lying.
“I just want to talk. You left us a note, and we’re worried.”
Worried. That was one word for it. Despair cloaked me, heavy and suffocating, pressing me closer to the edge. “Maybe I should’ve done something quieter. A pill for every person I couldn’t save?” I huffed. “Would that’ve been enough to stop this?”
