Morning comes quietly.
Too quietly.
Sunlight slips through the curtains like it doesn't want to bother me. Like it's scared of what it might see.
I sit up in bed and wait for the usual rush.
The check.
The panic.The relief.
Nothing comes.
That's when I realize something's wrong.
I get dressed. Brush my teeth. Tie my shoes.
Normal things.
Empty things.
"Mika," I call, heading into the kitchen.
She's there. Sitting at the table. Eating cereal. Kicking her legs like always.
"Morning," she says, mouth full.
I nod. "Morning."
That's it.
No tight chest.No instinctive counting of her breaths.No desperate need to touch her shoulder just to make sure she's real.
She looks the same.
But the weight is gone.
And that scares me more than anything so far.
She talks about school. About a quiz she forgot about. About some girl who keeps borrowing her pens.
I listen.
I understand the words.
I just don't feel them.
It's like watching someone else's memories play on a screen. I know the story. I know the characters.
But I'm not inside it anymore.
"…Ren?" she says, frowning. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I reply automatically.
Lie.
She stares at me for a second longer, then shrugs and goes back to eating.
I watch her.
And hate myself for what I don't feel.
—
At school, it gets worse.
Someone bumps into me in the hallway.
I don't flinch.
I drop my books.
I don't care.
In class, the teacher calls my name twice before I respond.
"Ren?" she says sharply. "Are you with us?"
"Sorry," I say.
I don't know why I apologized.
I don't know why I care.
That thought stops me cold.
I don't know why I care.
The words echo.
I press my hand to my chest.
There's something there. I know there should be.
It's just… quieter now.
Like love turned the volume down and forgot to tell me.
—
I find Luna on the roof after school.
I don't know how I know she'll be there.
I just know.
She's sitting on the edge, legs dangling over the side, staring at the city like she's memorizing it for later.
She doesn't turn when I approach.
"You feel different," she says.
I sit beside her, leaving a careful gap between us.
"Yeah," I reply. "I noticed."
She finally looks at me.
Her expression tightens.
"What did you lose?"
I think about Mika.
About how I used to feel like the world would end if anything happened to her.
About how now—
"I still love her," I say slowly. "I think."
"But?"
"But it feels… thinner."
Luna closes her eyes.
"That wasn't supposed to happen yet," she murmurs.
"Yet," I repeat. "So this gets worse."
She doesn't answer.
Which is answer enough.
I stare out at the city. Cars moving. People living. Timelines overlapping like they don't care what happens to one boy on a roof.
"I saved her," I say. "That should count for something."
"It does," Luna replies. "It counts against you."
I laugh weakly. "Figures."
She studies my face. Really studies it.
"You're detaching," she says. "That's dangerous."
"For who?" I ask.
"For you," she answers immediately.
Then, quieter, "For everyone you're trying to protect."
I look at her.
At the girl sent to erase my bloodline.
At the girl warning me how to survive.
"Why do you care?" I ask.
She hesitates.
Just a fraction of a second.
Enough.
"I shouldn't," she says.
"But you do."
"Yes."
The word hangs between us.
Heavy.
Honest.
"I'm breaking," I admit. "Piece by piece."
She reaches out before she seems to realize what she's doing.
Her fingers brush mine.
And something sparks.
Not time.
Emotion.
Raw. Sudden. Sharp.
I gasp softly.
She freezes.
Then pulls her hand back like she touched fire.
"…That," she says, unsettled, "wasn't supposed to happen."
My heart is racing.
Not because of fear.
Because for a brief second—
I felt something clearly again.
"You felt it too," I say.
Her jaw tightens.
"That's a problem."
"For who?" I ask.
She stands abruptly. Steps back.
"For the timeline," she says. "For my mission."
"For us?" I press.
She looks at me.
Really looks.
"You don't even realize it yet," she says softly, "but if this continues… I won't be able to kill you."
My breath catches.
"And if you can't," I whisper, "what happens?"
Her voice drops to almost nothing.
"Then they'll send someone who can."
She turns away.
Leaves.
I stay on the roof long after she's gone.
My chest aches—not sharply, but dull. Persistent.
Love is fading.
But something else is growing in its place.
Something dangerous.
And I don't know which one will kill me first.