There was no sunrise.

Only the dull ache of gray morning settling over the motel.

Raven sat alone now, in the spot where he'd last held her. Arms wrapped tightly around herself, not for warmth - just to keep herself from falling apart entirely.

She hadn't said goodbye.

Not really.

No word had ever felt big enough.

The motel room felt emptier than silence, still thick with his scent, with the echo of his laugh that had once bounced from these thin walls like music.

She sat cross-legged on the creaky mattress, staring at the door like it owed her closure.

It didn't open.

The truth lingered like a ghost - unforgiving but familiar. She had loved him with a fire that defied reason. She had known the edges didn't line up. Had known something was too strange, too intense, to not be destined.

And still, she'd chosen him.

Again and again.

Now, she would have to choose how to live without him.

Her phone buzzed once. She ignored it.

Then again.

She reached for it slowly, expecting a blank screen. But what stared back was a single image: a photo he'd taken the night they ran.

They were laughing, limbs tangled in motel sheets, smiles crooked and genuine. Caught in a moment half a breath away from forever.

Her vision blurred, but she didn't look away.

Because in that frame - they had still believed.

Elsewhere - miles away

Ryle sat hunched on the floor of a borrowed room, back against the wall, the familiar ache of her hoodie clenched in his fists.

He had promised himself he wouldn't reach out.

He wouldn't make it harder.

But this wasn't peace.

This wasn't healing.

Peace didn't look like waking up every hour expecting her breath against his skin.

He pressed his forehead to his knees. And he remembered. Her laugh. Her fire. The way she never stopped fighting for them.

"Loving you feels like drowning."

"Then I was your ocean."

He whispered the words like a mantra, like maybe saying them again would pull her closer.

But even oceans retreat eventually.

And Raven? she was already gone.