The wind was sharp enough to make my eyes water, but I kept walking. I didn't know where I was going — only that it had to be away from him, from that apartment, from the life that had turned me into a ghost.
People brushed past me, each one in a rush, each one with somewhere to be. I clutched my coat tighter, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach.
My phone buzzed. I didn't check it. I already knew it wasn't him.
The dizziness came first — a slow, creeping haze at the edges of my vision. I'd skipped breakfast. Maybe lunch too. My legs started to feel heavier with each step.
"Hey, watch it!" someone barked when I stumbled into them.
I mumbled an apology and kept going, but the ground seemed to shift under me.
I gripped a street pole, breathing hard, willing the spinning to stop.
It didn't.
The city sounds faded, replaced by the muffled thud of my own heartbeat in my ears.
"Miss?"
The voice was close — deep, foreign, steady.
I turned, or tried to, and saw a blur of dark hair, a coat collar turned up against the wind.
Then everything went black.
The last thing I felt was arms — strong, unfamiliar — catching me before the concrete did.