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The last jump was the one that scared me. Not because it was the biggest. Not because the building was sloped. But because I remembered what it felt like the last time I leapt from that ledge.
I’d been twenty. Furious. Untouchable.
That night, I’d stood on the edge and thought—what if I just didn’t? What if I let the fall win?
Now I stood there again, knees bent, arms loose, sweat dripping down my spine.
Jessa came up beside me. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know.”
“I do,” I said. “To myself.”
“To Elias?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know anymore.
I took the jump.
The landing was messy, pain rippling up my calves, but I stuck it. I turned to grin at Jessa.
She didn’t move.
Just stared at me.
“You’re not okay,” she said. “And this isn’t going to fix it.”
I swallowed hard. “I know.”
Then she jumped, too.
We collapsed on the rooftop together, side by side, breath coming fast and uneven. The sun finally dipped, shadows stretching long and soft over the brick and iron of the city.
Below, sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. A reminder that the world kept spinning, even when we tried to outrun it.
“Next time,” Jessa said between gulps of air, “we do something normal.”
“Like what? Karaoke?”
“Or bowling. Maybe with bumpers.”
I laughed. Really laughed.
And it hit me how long it had been since that sound came from somewhere real.
“Deal,” I said. “But only if there’s cheap beer.”
“Obviously.”
We lay there, sweat cooling, city humming.
The breeze tickled the sweat on my collarbone as we lay sprawled across hot tar and gravel. My lungs burned, but my mind was quieter than it had been in days.
“Can we talk?” Jessa asked after a long pause. Her voice had softened—less bravado, more ache.
I turned my head to face her. “About what?”
“Last night.”