If I was lucky, I would have met a passing driver who didn't mind the storm and would take pity on a stranger standing alone under a shaking umbrella. But luck had never really been something that stayed close to me.
The rain came down harder, turning the road into a blur of silver and darkness. My small umbrella barely held on, bending under the wind until it felt useless in my hands. Before long, I was completely soaked, my clothes clinging to my skin as cold water ran down my arms and neck.
I kept walking anyway.
At first, I told myself it wouldn't be far. That someone would pass. That the night wasn't as empty as it looked. But time stretched without mercy, and every step felt heavier than the last. The bond inside me—usually faint but steady—felt unsettled too, like something far away was shifting without me.
Then the pain started.
