Ashes to Ashes

Static

Therapy always left her buzzing. Not in a good way — more like she'd licked a power line and now couldn’t sit still.

She shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket and stalked down the sidewalk, boots smacking against cracked concrete, her hood pulled low to block out the world. Late afternoon bled into that ugly grey hour where streetlights flickered to life but didn’t do much good. The sun hadn’t really set yet, just… given up.

She didn’t notice the guy until she almost collided with him.

Tall. Dressed like winter even though it was spring. Dark coat, pale hoodie, hands shoved into his pockets like he was trying to stay human.

Their eyes met.

And the world stopped.

No metaphor. No exaggeration. It stopped.

For a split second, everything around them muted — traffic, footsteps, wind — like the world itself held its breath.

His eyes were the color of frost on midnight glass. Not blue. Not grey. Cold.

Luna’s pulse slammed through her like thunder.

She didn’t know him.

And she knew him.

The same way she knew the weight of a blade she'd never held. The taste of ash on her tongue. The exact shape of the scar on his shoulder that she couldn’t possibly know was there.

Then the moment passed. Someone bumped into her from behind, and she blinked.

He was still standing there, watching her. Head tilted just slightly, like he felt it too. But didn’t know what to do with it.

Luna did what she always did when something scared her.

She ran.

Just walked off — fast, head down, hoping it passed as normal. Hoping her legs didn’t betray how badly they were shaking. Hoping she never saw him again.

And hating herself for hoping the opposite.

—

She didn’t stop until she reached the rusted pedestrian bridge on the edge of town — the one that led nowhere useful, except away.

Her breath came in sharp bursts, not quite panic, not quite adrenaline. Just… disruption. Like her body was trying to reject whatever had just happened.

She gripped the metal railing, let the cold bite her palms.

“Okay,” she muttered to no one. “Not a panic attack. Just… coincidence. People have weird eyes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Except it had meant something.

She’d felt it in her chest, in her teeth. Like a tuning fork had been struck deep inside her and now every cell was trying to remember a song she hadn’t learned yet.

She closed her eyes — just for a second.

And saw snow falling on fire.

A city in ruins. A man reaching for her hand across a battlefield. The same frost-glass eyes, filled with agony. Ash coating his lips as he whispered her name like it was the last word he’d ever say.

She gasped and pulled away from the railing like it had burned her. Her heart beat like war drums.

What the hell was happening to her?

“Get a grip,” she growled. “You’re not cursed. You’re not special. You’re not…”

Wings. Fire. Mirrors. Ice.

She shoved the memory down and stormed off the bridge, fists clenched.

But behind her, the wind stirred — and somewhere far off, something watched.

Not the stranger.

Something older.

Something hungry.