The Cirrius I knew?
When he fell, he got back up.
You don't just lose someone like Cirrius and keep breathing like that's a normal thing.
Not when he was your twin.
Not when you watched the light leave your parents' eyes the same moment you promised you'd never lose him too.
---
I'm Camille Campbell.
And my life?
It's been a chaotic, gut-wrenching ride — the kind of rollercoaster that jerks you around so hard your ribs slam the safety bar and your stomach begs to get off.
I don't smile much anymore.
Haven't really, since that day.
The day everything cracked wide open.
---
It started like any regular road trip.
Windows down. Music loud.
Sunlight bleeding into the car while Dad hummed off-key like we were untouchable. Like life was good and permanent.
Then—
The blur.
The swerve.
The sound of tires peeling off pavement—
Metal folding in on itself.
And the screaming.
God, the screaming.
Burnt rubber.
Gasoline.
Panic flooding the air like smoke.
The windshield cracked.
The rail didn't stop us.
Then water.
Everywhere.
Dark. Ice-cold. Pouring in like it had claws.
Mom's hand found my arm in the dark.
"Camille," she whispered.
Just that. No warning. No goodbye.
Her arms wrapped around me and Cirrius — tight, like she thought if she held on hard enough, we'd survive it.
But she didn't.
And Dad—
That look on his face before the water swallowed us whole…
Guilt carved into stone.
Eyes wide. Frozen.
Already drowning before his lungs filled.
---
Cirrius and I were the only ones who made it out.
The only ones left.
---
After that?
Smiling felt wrong.
Like betrayal.
Like letting go of the pain meant they didn't matter anymore.
Aunt Tessa took us in.
She tried — warm meals, porch lights, soft hugs.
But grief isn't a room you redecorate.
It's a void.
And no amount of cinnamon pancakes fills it.
The only thing that kept me going was Cirrius.
He was chaos, I was calm.
He broke things, I fixed them.
He jumped, I pulled him back.
"Come on, Cee," he'd grin. "Don't be so boring. Life's short. Smash something."
That was us.
Until he started to change.
Started picking fights.
Disappearing.
Running with kids who thought being broken made them untouchable.
Then he crossed a line.
Stole a car.
Got caught.
They sent him to Avard High — a reform school in the middle of nowhere for kids with fists, records, and no second chances.
At first, he called every night.
"Still alive," he'd joke. "No ankle chains yet."
But soon the calls got shorter.
His voice duller.
His laugh? Gone.
Something was draining him.
And I…
I never told him I missed him.
Never said I loved him.
Never reminded him who he used to be before the shadows took over.
---
Then one night, Aunt Tessa came into my room holding a letter.
Her hands shaking. Face pale.
"Camille…" she whispered, like saying it might shatter the world.
"It's about Cirrius. The school said he… he took his own life."
Just like that, everything collapsed. Again.
No goodbye. No explanation. Just gone.
I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't scream.
Just sat there while my lungs clawed for air like I was back underwater again.
Only this time?
I was alone.
---
Cirrius?
My reckless, stubborn, loyal best friend?
Gone?
No.
I don't believe it.
Because Cirrius wasn't just some "at-risk" name in a report.
He was mine.
He was fire and fists and laughter at 2 a.m.
He was pain and promise and survival.
And he didn't go down easy.
So whatever happened at Avard High?
It wasn't suicide.
And I'm going to find out what really happened.
Even if it kills me.