A week passed before Carl finally called.
His voice was sharp, irritated. "Where did you go? What are you trying to do? You know I could never like her, and she doesn't like me either. Did you really have to leave over this?
"Just tell me where you are. I'll come get you. We're about to get married—does this even make sense to you?
"Yara, do you have to make sure I have no friends left?"
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. "Let's break up, Carl. There's no need for a wedding."
Then I hung up.
I went to block him—but then, a sharp itch crawled up my throat. A cold dread curled in my stomach.
The next second, blood gushed from my mouth and nose.
The thick scent of iron filled the air.
Cold spread through me, my vision tilting. My breath came in short, ragged gasps as I staggered toward the door.
But before I reached it, my legs buckled.
I crashed to the floor.
Darkness swallowed me whole, the chill sinking deep into my bones.
In my mind, two children ran through an orphanage courtyard.
"Carl, will we always be together?"
"Of course. I'll never leave you."
Somewhere, my phone kept ringing.
The sound grew distant.
I couldn't lift my hand to answer.
My consciousness unraveled.
So this... was death.
***
"Carl, what's wrong?"
