Luke:
The city feels emptier than it should.
Every night, the wind off the river cuts sharper, slipping through the cracked seams of my jacket like it knows exactly where to find bare skin. The same streets I used to patrol now look like hollow bones—familiar, but stripped of warmth. I drive them anyway.
No badge. No uniform. Just the sound of my truck’s engine and the map in my head that leads nowhere but back to her.
Alex.
I trace the same routes she once ruled on two wheels: the industrial stretch by the docks, where shadows hide everything the city pretends not to see. The crooked strip of neon bars on the east side, her Sirens posted like sentries outside. The back roads where we once rode together, her laugh lost in the roar of the engine.
Each mile is a wound I can’t stop reop
