Chapter 6 · free to read
Two wounds, four platforms, and a name that still belongs to nobody. Not a bad week.
Nine years ago they burned the building and struck the name. Somebody kept coming back to the ruin, though. The weeds are cut.
Half a crest. Not a broken token — a matched one, cut in two on purpose, and cut before the fire.
Mirrored halves. My father cut this and gave it to someone. Which means on the night the school burned, I was not the only one carried out of it.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.