The pen feels heavier than the envelope of money sitting on my table.
I tell myself it’s only ink and paper, but the truth is that every stroke feels like blood, like confession, like the last pieces of me bleeding out.
I never planned to write him. Not really. Not like this. But if tomorrow I choose to disappear,if I take their deal and vanish into the faceless crowd of another city, another life,then Valen will never know the truth about me. And if I stay, if I burn in the fire I’ve willingly stepped into, then maybe these letters will be the only record that I ever loved him.
So I write.
The First Letter
Valen,
Do you remember the bar where we met? I was hiding from myself, pretending I wanted nothing but whiskey and anonymity. And you were… there. Larger than life. Dangerous in a
