The city didn't sleep.
It only lowered its voice.
Jay noticed it first in the way the streetlights flickered—less aggressive, more patient. Like the city was watching him now instead of chasing him. He leaned against the rusted railing outside the old laundromat, hands in his hoodie pockets, eyes scanning a road he'd walked a hundred times and somehow never really seen.
Tonight felt different.
Not safer.
Just… calmer. The kind of calm that comes before something decides what it's going to be.
A bus groaned past, coughing smoke. Somewhere nearby, laughter cracked through the air, then disappeared. Jay exhaled slowly. He'd been doing that a lot lately—pausing, breathing, thinking before moving. Old Jay would've already been gone, chasing noise or trouble or anything loud enough to drown his thoughts.
But thoughts had weight now.
Footsteps approached. Light. Familiar.
"You always stand like you're guarding something," Zara said.
Jay didn't turn immediately. "Maybe I am."
She stopped beside him, arms crossed, gaze following his down the street. She wore a simple jacket, hair tied back, eyes sharp even when relaxed. Zara had a way of looking like she was ready for whatever came next—even when she wasn't sure what that was.
"Or maybe," she added, "you just don't know where to go yet."
That one landed closer than he liked.
Jay finally looked at her. "You come out here to analyze me, or…?"
"Neither," she said. "I came to walk. You just happened to be in the way."
He smirked. "Lucky me."
They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that didn't beg to be filled. Zara kicked a small stone off the curb, watching it bounce.
"You been thinking again," she said.
Jay raised a brow. "You say that like it's dangerous."
"For you?" She glanced at him. "Sometimes."
He huffed softly. "Yeah. Guess I have."
"About?"
He hesitated. Not because he didn't trust her—but because saying it out loud would make it real.
"About staying," he said finally.
Zara didn't react right away. That was her thing—letting words sit before judging them.
"Staying where?" she asked.
"Here. This side of things." He gestured vaguely at the street, the buildings, the life that had shaped him. "Feels like I've been standing at a line I didn't know existed."
"And?"
"And I don't know which side I belong on."
Zara nodded slowly. "That's not a bad place to be."
Jay looked at her, surprised. "Most people don't say that."
"Most people rush decisions because being unsure makes them uncomfortable," she replied. "But uncertainty means something's changing."
The city hummed around them, distant engines, muted conversations. Jay studied her face—the confidence, the quiet strength. Zara wasn't loud about her beliefs, but she carried them like armor.
"You ever scared you'll outgrow this place?" he asked.
She smiled faintly. "Every day."
That surprised him more than anything she'd said.
"But," she continued, "I'm more scared of shrinking myself just to fit it."
Jay let that sink in.
A group of boys passed by, loud, careless, eyes sharp in the way Jay recognized too well. One of them nodded at Jay—an old acknowledgment. Jay nodded back, but the exchange felt… distant. Like a door closing without slamming.
"You see that?" Zara asked quietly.
"Yeah."
"You didn't look tempted."
Jay shrugged. "Didn't feel like me anymore."
She studied him again, this time longer. "That's new."
"Guess so."
They started walking, side by side, steps naturally in sync. No destination. Just movement.
"You know," Zara said after a while, "people think change is loud. Like it has to announce itself."
Jay glanced at her. "And?"
"And most of the time, it's quiet. It waits until you're ready to notice."
They stopped at a corner where the street split in two—one road familiar, worn thin by memory. The other less traveled, dim but open.
Jay felt it then. Not pressure. Not fear.
Choice.
He looked at Zara. She didn't point. Didn't push. Just stood there, present.
"Which way you going?" he asked.
She smiled—not teasing, not certain. "I was hoping we'd find out together."
Jay breathed out, something in his chest easing. For the first time in a long while, the future didn't feel like a threat.
They stepped forward—not fast, not slow—just intentional.
Behind them, the city watched.
Not angry.
Not demanding.
Waiting.