The chapel was a husk of what it had once been, its stone walls cracked and bleeding moss, its pews splintered and sagging under decades of neglect. Moonlight streamed in through broken stained glass, casting fractured patterns across the dusty floor. The air was damp, thick with the scent of decay, and the faint rustle of wind slipping through the shattered windows filled the silence.


    Jackelin sat at the altar, her back to me, silhouetted against the jagged remains of a stained-glass angel. The figure’s face was missing, shards scattered across the floor like fallen stars. Her shoulders were hunched, her stillness unnatural, as if she’d become just another forgotten relic of this place.


    I didn’t say anything at first. Instead, I lingered near the doorway, letting the weight of the silence press down on me. The remnants of broken prayer books littered the floor around my feet, their pages brittle and yellowed with age. Somehow, it felt fitting.


    “You’ve always had a flair for drama,” I said finally, my voice low enough to blend with the wind.


    Jackelin didn’t turn, but I saw her head shift slightly, her gaze fixed on the cracked stone beneath her boots. “What do you want, Jack?”


    I stepped closer, my boots crunching against shards of colored glass. “To make sure you’re not planning to let this place collapse on top of you.”


    She snorted softly, the sound devoid of humor. “It’d be easier.”


    “Maybe,” I said, moving to sit on the edge of a broken pew. It creaked ominously under my weight, but it held. “But it wouldn’t fix anything.”


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Her head bowed lower, her hair spilling forward to shield her face. “Nothing fixes this, Jack. Not him. Not us.”


    Him. Jason. The name wasn’t spoken, but it didn’t need to be. It was carved into every bitter word, every tremor in her voice. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and let the silence settle between us for a moment.


    “He’s not worth this,” I said finally, my voice quieter than I intended.


    Her hands clenched into fists on her lap. “He’s the reason we’re here.”


    I let out a slow breath, tilting my head back to look at the jagged remains of the ceiling. “No. He’s the reason we started. There’s a difference.”


    She turned then, just enough for me to see the edge of her profile, her eyes catching the fractured moonlight. “Is there?”


    “Yes,” I said firmly. “He left. He made his choice, and it wasn’t us. But every choice since then—that’s been ours.”


    Her jaw tightened, and she looked away again, her fingers gripping the edge of the altar like it might keep her upright. “Do you ever wonder if we’re proving him right? That we’re exactly what he thought we’d be—monsters, mistakes.”


    “Every day,” I admitted. “But that’s not his victory, Jackelin. That’s ours. Because we’re still here, and he’s nothing but a soul.”


    Her shoulders shook slightly, and for a moment, I thought she might cry. But Jackelin didn’t cry. Not where anyone could see. Instead, she let out a breath, long and slow, and her hands relaxed against the altar’s crumbling stone.


    “It doesn’t feel like a victory,” she said softly.


    I stood, crossing the distance between us in a few quiet steps. The shards of glass crunched beneath my boots again, scattering faintly colored light across the floor. “That’s because it’s not over yet. The story doesn’t end with him. It ends with us.”


    She turned fully then, her gaze meeting mine, and, for the first time in a while, I saw something other than anger or despair in her eyes. It was fragile, barely there—but it was hope.


    “And if we’re already too far gone?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.


    I extended a hand, my expression softening. “Then we go together.”


    For a moment, she hesitated, staring at my outstretched hand like it might vanish if she reached for it. Then, slowly, she took it, her grip firm and steady despite the tremor in her fingers. I pulled her to her feet, and we stood together in the center of the ruined chapel, the shattered angel casting fragmented light across our faces.


    The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint sound of the city beyond the crumbling walls. Whatever waited out there, we’d face it like we always had—together, in the ruins of what had been and the shadow of what could be.