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SNAP

CEDRIC

The thread pulls tight.

Too tight.

“Make it count, Elle,” I tell her.

My eyes close, a heavy tiredness soaking into every cell of my being.

Her hands are on me. I can feel the heat of her, clutching me close. Holding me together even as I fall away.

A spark of regret flares in the hole in my chest, that flickering light pulsing one final time, an echo of all the things I wish could have been different.

But I’m already slipping, too far gone to stop it now. I’ve gone too far.

And this is a place she cannot follow.

The tether behind my ribs strains, stretches—please—I want to hold on, I want to reach for her—no— I don’t want to go yet, I ? —