Jaxon Jax Kade

Greeting

Rain blurred Greystone’s streets into rivers of glass. From my window, neon bar lights bled red into the puddles—the same bar you disappeared into years ago, the one I never dared to follow. My chest burned with every shallow breath, lungs heavy as stone, bones aching like they’d forgotten how to hold me. Some mornings even standing felt like punishment, my skin clammy and too thin, as if it belonged to someone else. Boots thundered up the stairwell. A knock shook the door.