I narrowed my eyes, and my breath caught in my throat.
This woman…
She was her.
The woman Zioh once dated five years ago. The reason I stopped calling, stopped hoping, stopped believing. The one who shattered his promise to me, and who spread rumors about Zeraiah, claiming he tried to steal her from Zioh.
Were they still together?
But—Zioh once told me—
No,he never explained. I had filled in the blanks myself.
A sharp pain twisted in my chest, as if a rough hand was crushing it. And then, on her hand…
She wore it.
This woman wore something on her hand. Something that once belonged only to Zioh and me. Something he had made, and had given to me…
For the two of us alone.
My body trembled as I glanced back at him, already knowing the truth, but still needing to see it with my owneyes. And yes… It was true. Zioh’s wrist was bare; the metal that once bound us was gone.
Five years ago, I’d taken mine off too when I decided to end us. But still, I kept it—the bracelet.
My eyes burned. I bit my inner lip as I struggled to hold back the sobs. For years, I clutched that bracelet in my hand, while my eyes fixed on the stars above my bed. It was the last string that kept me believing and waiting for him.
But how could he just throw our bracelet away to someone else like that?
Did it mean nothing to him at all? Was everything he said to me that night just a joke?
Then her gaze turned. The woman in front of me was looking at me in a way that made my skin crawl. She fixed her hair with slow, deliberate precision.
I swallowed hard.
Turning back to Zioh, I stopped breathing for a moment. He was even stiffer now. His face had drained of color, and he held his breath. No—not held.
He couldn’t breathe at all.
My body moved on instinct, shifting closer to him.
When I tried to grab his hand, Zioh stepped back with a rushed move. “Zioh…” I called, but his gaze locked on the woman before us, refusing to turn to me.
He shook his head, edging further away. His breath was breaking out in ragged bursts. “Hhh… hhh… hhh.”
Then, all at once, he clutched at his head, ears, and stomach. He started hitting his own head. Over and over.
What was happening—
I stared. My hand quivered in the air, following his frantic movement. When it looked as if he might collapse, I caught him by the shoulders and held him up with all my strength. I pressed myself in front of him, desperate to shield him, desperate to see his face.
“Zi… hey… Can you hear me?” My voice shook as I craned my neck and angled my head, trying to glimpse his face as he buried himself under my grip.
I reached out to stroke his face, but froze at the sudden crash that thundered behind me. My head whipped round. The woman’s hand slammed against the bonnet of the car, turning red. I stared at her hand, then her face—and I went rigid.
What?
Her eyes had narrowed into sharp slits, so sharp they could cut if they were knives. The broad smile she had worn was gone, replaced by pressed lips and heavy breaths.
