The world felt empty. Not the quiet of the night, or the stillness of a deserted alley, but the kind of emptiness that gnawed at the edges of your soul, leaving hollows where laughter, warmth, and life once lived. Travis was gone. Every corner of my mind replayed the last moments—the weakness in his grip, the faint smile he gave me as life slipped from him, the final whispered words that now haunted my every breath: "Alive… together… always…"
I sat on a rooftop overlooking the city, knees pulled tight to my chest, rain beginning to drizzle, cold droplets soaking through my coat. The fog rolled in from the streets below, curling like fingers around the buildings, hiding the world from view. And yet, the fog didn't hide the memories of him—his laughter, his stupid, charming grin, the way he teased to mask his worry.
I let my head fall into my hands. The city noises were distant, almost meaningless. Every siren, every footstep, every faint click of a shuttered store was swallowed by the echo of my grief. I hadn't realized how much of myself I had tied to him until the moment he was gone. And now, the tether had snapped.
"Alive… together… always…" I whispered, letting the words roll off my tongue, tasting them like a bitter medicine. The mantra felt hollow, yet stubbornly persistent. He had lived for this—survived for this—and now, in his absence, I had to survive too.
I rose slowly, legs trembling, eyes scanning the streets below. Hunters were still out there, shadows moving through the fog, but I wasn't thinking about them just yet. First, I had to confront the void he left behind.
The memories came unbidden, piercing and sharp. The sound of the first time we met in that rain-slick diner, his ridiculous pronunciation of a town name that had sent me into stifled laughter. The way he'd brushed my hair from my face in a narrow alley, a simple touch that had somehow conveyed more than words ever could. Each memory was a knife and a balm at once—painful, yet strangely comforting.
I paced along the edge of the rooftop, fists clenched. Humor had always been our armor, our way to survive, and now without him, it felt foreign. I tried to summon a wry comment, a sarcastic retort, something that could pull me from the abyss for just a moment—but the words faltered, caught in the lump of grief lodged in my throat.
And then I realized something terrifying: the world hadn't stopped. The hunters hadn't paused. The city didn't care about my sorrow. Survival didn't wait.
I pulled my coat tighter around me and let the rain soak through. Cold and wet, my senses sharpened. I could still hear the distant shuffle of boots, faint voices carried on the wind. Danger was constant, relentless. And yet, amidst the despair, a spark of purpose flickered.
Travis had survived through courage, through wits, through… stubbornness. And now that he was gone, I had no choice but to embody everything he believed in for both of us. Survive. Adapt. Move forward.
I slid down the fire escape, boots splashing into puddles, rain running down my hair and dripping from my fingers. The streets stretched before me, silent but alive with threat. I moved cautiously, senses alert. Every shadow could be a hunter. Every corner, a trap. But each step forward was a defiance, a promise I whispered under my breath: I will survive. For you.
I found a narrow alley tucked between two abandoned buildings and ducked into the shadows, heart still pounding. I needed a plan—some semblance of direction. Sitting on a damp crate, I pulled out a small notebook Travis had left behind, a journal full of scribbles, jokes, and half-finished songs. His handwriting curled across the page, light and teasing, and I traced it with my fingers.
Even in death, he had left me something to cling to.
I flipped through the pages, searching not for laughter this time, but for guidance. Strategy. Ideas. His notes weren't just memories—they were lessons, a roadmap to surviving the world we had navigated together. And somewhere among the scribbles, I found the thread I needed.
Step one: move fast. Don't linger in one place. Hunters track scent, patterns, habits. Step two: trust instincts, not people easily. Step three: humor is survival. Keep it sharp, even when alone. Step four: fight smart, not just hard.
I read the last line, written in smaller, almost messy letters: "No one can stop a girl who's determined to survive. Not even me."
A shiver ran through me—not from cold, but from the raw truth of it. He had believed in me. And now I had to believe in myself.
The rain let up slightly, leaving the city glistening, wet, and quiet. I stood, knees aching, muscles tense. Survival wasn't just a necessity anymore—it was a promise. Not just to myself, but to Travis, to the bond we shared, to the laughter and chaos that had defined our brief, fleeting time together.
I slipped a knife into my coat pocket and checked my other weapons—vial of blood, throwing knives, a hidden dagger. Preparation wasn't just practical—it was ritualistic, a way to turn grief into action. I would honor him not by dwelling on the loss, but by continuing the fight.
The night stretched before me, fog curling around streetlights, shadows moving just beyond sight. I took a deep breath, chest tight, lungs burning from sorrow and determination alike.
I couldn't go back. I couldn't stay. This life—the endless running, the hunting, the constant fear—was all I knew. But now, I had to consider leaving it behind, carving a path toward some semblance of freedom, while carrying Travis's memory like a torch through the darkness.
I took one last look at the empty alley, at the city streets that had once felt like home and now felt like a labyrinth of danger. A faint smirk crept onto my face—not one of humor, not yet—but of resolve.
He would have wanted me to move forward. He would have wanted me to survive.
And I would.
Step by step, shadow by shadow, I disappeared into the city, every sense on high alert, every heartbeat a vow: I would survive. I would remember. I would honor him. And someday, somehow, I would find a life beyond the endless running—a life where his memory could exist without the constant ache of loss.
But for now… the hunters were still out there. And the city had not yet finished with me.