The hum of the engine filled the silence, steady and low, as if the car itself understood I wasn’t ready for words yet. My chest still heaved in uneven waves, each breath dragging against the remnants of the storm I’d just released. I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, watching the smear of headlights dance along the wet pavement.

But I wasn’t watching the city. I was watching myself, reflected faintly in the dark window—eyes red, cheeks damp, lips parted like I’d forgotten how to close them. I didn’t look like someone who was winning. I looked like someone who had survived just enough to keep limping forward.

His...