New Jeanland

“You sold me out for a shot at freedom, and I paid the price.”

Mira adjusted her hood against the rain, her fingers trembling as she stepped into the derelict train station. She had no reason to expect him to be here—no reason except that this place was where it had all begun.

And there he was, leaning against a rusted column, his face half-shadowed. Dax hadn’t changed much. His dark hair was still a mess, his coat still bore the scars of their last mission together.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” he said, his voice as calm and cutting as ever.

“I didn’t come for you,” Mira lied.

Dax chuckled, low and bitter. “Of course not.”

The silence stretched, broken only by the drip of water through the cracks in the roof. Mira glanced at him, her chest tightening at the sight of his hands—hands she’d once trusted with her life, hands that had let her fall when it mattered most.

“You knew what you were doing,” she said, her voice sharp. “You planned it all along.”

“And you didn’t?” Dax shot back, his eyes meeting hers with a fury that mirrored her own. “Don’t act like you were innocent, Mira. We both made our choices.”

Her voice rose, cutting through the rain’s steady rhythm. “You sold me out for a shot at freedom, Dax. And I paid the price.”

He stepped forward, the faint scent of smoke and rain clinging to him. “Don’t pretend you weren’t playing your own game,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You think I don’t know? You had your deal lined up the whole time.”

Her fists clenched, the memory of their last kiss—stolen in the heat of battle—flashing in her mind. It had felt real then. She had let herself believe it was real.

“I didn’t betray you,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.

Dax stepped closer, his dark eyes burning with something that looked like regret—or maybe anger. It was always so hard to tell with Dax. “You betrayed me the moment you walked away,” he said.

Their eyes locked, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of their history hung between them. Mira thought of the nights they’d spent together, the plans they’d made, the dreams they’d whispered when they thought the world couldn’t touch them.

But the world had touched them. It had torn them apart.

The distant whistle of a train broke the tension, a mournful sound that echoed through the empty station. Mira’s heart clenched, but she forced herself to turn away, her boots splashing through shallow puddles on the cracked concrete floor.

“Goodbye, Dax,” she said, her voice steady but hollow, as if the words were a bridge she burned with every step.

She felt his gaze, heavy and unrelenting, like the weight of the storm pressing down on her. The rainwater seeping through the station’s broken roof dripped in uneven rhythms, each drop a tiny hammer striking her resolve.

“Mira—” His voice stopped her mid-step, raw and unguarded.

For a moment, she froze. Her breath fogged in the cold air, mingling with the faint scent of smoke and damp earth. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her satchel as if bracing herself against a pull she couldn’t afford to feel.

When she turned back, he had taken a step forward, his hand half-raised as if to reach for her. But he stopped himself, his fingers curling into a fist.

“Don’t.” The single word slipped from her lips, quiet but sharp enough to cut the space between them. “Whatever you were about to say, don’t. It doesn’t change anything.”

He let his hand fall, his expression hardening. “I guess it doesn’t,” he said, the cold edge in his tone slicing through the fragile moment they’d shared.

Mira turned away again, the ache in her chest threatening to unravel her resolve. As she stepped into the rain, it felt colder now, sharper against her skin. The sound of the train’s whistle grew louder, closer, but the station behind her fell silent.

She didn’t look back.

Dax watched her go, the sound of her footsteps growing softer, each splash like an echo of something he couldn’t hold onto. The rain blurred her figure until she disappeared entirely, leaving only the faint impression of her path in the puddles. The train roared past, its whistle piercing the silence he was left with. He stayed where he was, rooted to the spot, as if moving would shatter the fragile hold he still had on the memory of her.

Mira didn’t look back, her grip tightening on her satchel as the cold rain stung her skin. The station had once been their beginning—a place where dreams had felt real. Now, it was nothing more than a graveyard for promises they couldn’t keep.

Some things, she realized, weren’t meant to be mended.

As the train’s whistle faded into the distance, she couldn’t help but wonder if some things weren’t meant to be left behind, either.