Alex stood at the edge of the bridge, his hands gripping the cold iron railing, knuckles white against the unyielding metal. The wind carried the scent of the river, mud, rain, and faint traces of humanity moving in invisible currents below.He hadn’t expected to return here. Not like this. Not alone. Not without Clara beside him. Yet here he was, standing on the same bridge where despair had once threatened to swallow him whole. The memory was raw: that night when he had stared into the dark waters, convinced that the world was better without him. The same night Clara had found him, whispering her gentle insistence that he was not finished—that redemption was possible.He exhaled slowly, the breath tasting of iron and river mist, and let himself remember every moment that had led him here: the rise of Neonetics, the collapse, the nights spent drowning in shame, the rehab sessions that tore him down and rebuilt him piece by piece. The weight of that journey pressed against his chest,

The river’s edge was quiet that evening, as if the city had stepped back to give Alex space. The sky hung low and pale, washed in the muted pastels of approaching dusk. He stood on the pedestrian path that curved along the water, the same path he had walked so many times in the worst months of his life. It felt different now—lighter, almost softened by memory instead of haunted by it.A gentle breeze came off the water, cool and scented with rain that hadn’t yet fallen. It tugged at his clothes and brushed his hair across his forehead. He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and continued walking, gravel crunching lightly under his shoes. The fading sunlight glinted against the surface of the river, flickering like a heartbeat.He stopped near the old railing and leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows. This spot was close to where Clara had first found him, half-conscious, half-gone, slipping into darkness he didn’t even want to admit he’d chosen. It was the place where

The sky was still dark when Alex stepped onto the bridge. A thin ribbon of fog drifted across the water, glowing faintly under the streetlights. His breath came out in soft white clouds, dissolving into the chill morning air.He held a small object in his palm, Clara’s pendant, the one he had kept close ever since the day he placed it on the windowsill. The metal felt cold now, as if holding the night inside it.He walked slowly toward the center of the bridge, the boards humming beneath his steps as early traffic whispered below. He remembered this spot too clearly, the first time he stood here ready to fall, and the second time he stood here ready to start again.Now he returned a third time, not to break, not to be saved, but to let go.As he reached the middle, the fog parted just enough to reveal the faint shimmering line of the horizon. He looked down at the river. The water moved steadily, sure of its direction. It didn’t question. It didn’t pause. It simply flowed.He held th