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I almost stand and walk over to him.

Cameron’s eyes are wet. I want to think it’s a trick of the afternoon sun hitting the café window, just a glare between us. But then his hand lifts to his face, and I’d know that posture anywhere. It’s the instinctual move of someone trying to hide the fact that they’re breaking.

He wipes at his eyes quickly, aggressively. He seems angry at himself for the tears, like he’s trying to erase them before anyone can see. But I see it.

I watch his fists unfurl and his fingers tap nervously on the table. Then he presses his palms flat to keep them still, as if he’s hoping to contain something that’s threatening to spill out of him.

A tear escapes. He catches it before it falls, his hand moving to his cheek so fast it’s almost violent. His whole body is rigid now, locked down, every muscle engaged in the effort of holding himself together. He’s actually crying.

Oh God. My baby.

I’ve hurt him. Not the way I hurt him when we were younger, when our fights had that electric charge, when the violence between us felt like the only thing we had. This is different. This is so much worse. I made him cry. I made him open and hopeful, and now I’m breaking him. I’ve taken the one place where he felt safe enough to be himself, the one person he thought understood him, and I’ve turned it into a weapon.

My own breathing goes shallow. My hands are cold. There’s a ringing in my ears like I’m about to pass out.

This is what I thought I wanted, at first, when I first started talking to him as Gwen, when I wanted him to know he’s not better than me. But I changed when he gave me the real Cameron. I became addicted. I thought I could control this, that I could engineer the perfect moment, could make him see me the way I see him. But watching him sit there, fighting tears, trying so hard to hold himself together, destroys something in me.

I’m a fucking monster. I may wear a human face, but underneath, I’m a destroyer of good things. Cameron is so good, so perfect, my perfect boy. But I’ve ruined him. There’s no redemption for me, no atonement for what I’ve done.

I’m up before my mind catches on. I stand and walk across the café toward his table.

Cameron sees me coming and his entire body stiffens. He straightens, wipes his face one more time, and tries to compose himself. But I can see the effort it costs him. The way his jaw trembles before he locks it down.

He groans. “What the fuck do you want?”

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. “I⁠—”

The words won’t form. How do I explain? That I’m the one who knows every secret he’s shared? That everything he felt was real, just directed at the wrong face?

Cameron rolls his eyes and stands. “Unbelievable. You just can’t leave me alone.”

“Cam—” I follow him as he heads for the door. “Cam, are you okay?”

He whirls on me, his lashes still wet, and the look on his face is pure fury mixed with something that looks like desperation. “What do you care, asshole?”

Then he’s gone. Out the door, across the street, disappearing into his building before I can say anything more.

I stand there on the sidewalk, watching the door close behind him. My chest feels like it’s caving in.

I’ve lost him. Before I ever really had him, I’ve lost him.

The streets blur together. I’m moving through them on autopilot, my body carrying me forward while my mind stays frozen in that moment with Cameron’s teary eyes, the fury on his face, and the way he looked at me like I was nothing.

I could message him as Gwen. That’s the thought that surfaces first, cutting through the numbness. I could reach out, apologize for being distant, say something that would pull him back in. But what would I say? Sorry, something came up. The words feel hollow. He’d see through them. He’s already starting to see through them.

I could call him. Hear his voice. Use AI to make Gwen sound even more real, more present. But he wants to see her. He’s already asked. And I can’t… I can’t keep lying to him like this, not after making him cry like that.

I pass a storefront window and catch my reflection, walking alone, hands shoved in my pockets, my face blank. I look like a ghost, already dead, condemned to haunt the living.

What if I just told him the truth? What if I walked back to his building right now and told him everything? That it’s me. That I’ve always been the one who understands him. That I’ve been obsessed with him since St. Silas.

He’d hate me. He’d call me a psychopath. He’d probably call the police.

But at least he’d know. At least the lying would be over. But I’d be doing it more for me than him. I can’t risk hurting him more than I already have.

I keep walking. By the time I reach my street, my hands are trembling. The numbness is starting to crack. Panic is seeping through the fissures. I need to do something. I need to fix this before it gets worse. Before Cameron decides to block Gwen entirely and move on. I can’t let him move on.

My bedroom is exactly as I left it this morning before my world ended. The bed is perfectly made. Everything is in its place. But it’s only the illusion of control. I pick up the framed photo of my sister, smiling brightly, unaware that her face has been co-opted.