The decision didn't come all at once. It settled slowly, like dust after something heavy had fallen.
Aiven felt it while standing behind the café counter, hands wrapped around a warm mug he hadn't touched. The morning rush had ended, leaving behind quiet clinks of cups and the low hum of the refrigerator. Outside, the street looked ordinary. Too ordinary.
Miss Liora watched him from the pastry shelf. "You're somewhere else again."
Aiven looked up. "Sorry."
She smiled gently. "You don't have to apologize. Just… don't disappear inside your head for too long."
Her words lingered with him long after she stepped away.
Draven arrived shortly after, expression tight. He didn't sit this time—just leaned against the counter, eyes scanning the windows, the door, the reflection in the glass.
"They came back," he said quietly.
Aiven's chest tightened. "Who?"
"Two of them. Same type. Phones out. Pretending to wait for drinks they never ordered."
Aiven swallowed. "Did they say anything?"
"No," Draven replied. "That's what makes it worse."
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
"We can't keep doing this," Aiven said finally. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled slightly around the mug.
Draven studied him. "Doing what?"
"Pretending it's manageable."
Draven didn't argue. He already knew.
Across town, rehearsal ended early—but the tension followed Raze back to the dorm. He showered, changed, and sat on his bed staring at his phone, unread messages stacked like a warning.
Zenith stood in the doorway. "You're thinking about leaving."
Raze looked up sharply. "What?"
Zenith crossed his arms. "Not permanently. Just… distance."
Raze exhaled slowly. "I haven't said anything."
"You don't have to," Zenith replied. "I know the signs."
Raze leaned back, covering his eyes with his forearm. "I hate that this is what it comes to."
Zenith's voice softened. "Sometimes staying is more dangerous than going."
Raze lowered his arm. "What about you?"
Zenith hesitated. "I don't get the luxury of pretending I'm unaffected."
Raze noticed the tightness in his jaw. "Draven?"
Zenith didn't answer. That was answer enough.
That evening, Aiven sat on the edge of his bed, phone in his hand, heart pounding. He typed, erased, typed again.
Aiven: Can we talk later? Somewhere quiet.
The reply came a minute later.
Raze: Anytime.
Aiven closed his eyes briefly, then sent the next message.
Aiven: I think… we need space from the city.
Several seconds passed.
Raze: Are you in danger?
Aiven hesitated, then answered honestly.
Aiven: Not yet. But I feel like I will be.
Raze's response came immediately.
Raze: I'll figure something out.
On the other side of the city, Draven stood by his window, phone glowing in his hand. He hadn't planned to message Zenith—but his fingers moved anyway.
Draven: If things get bad… would you listen?
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
Zenith: I always do.
Draven stared at the screen, breath catching. He typed, deleted, then finally sent:
Draven: Even if it's about leaving?
There was a pause this time. Longer. Enough to make his chest ache.
Zenith: Especially then.
Draven exhaled, a quiet sound that felt like relief and fear all at once.
That night, Raze met Zenith on the dorm rooftop. The city lights stretched endlessly below them, beautiful and suffocating.
"I'm thinking of getting them out for a while," Raze said.
Zenith nodded. "I thought you might."
"Not a disappearance," Raze added quickly. "Just… somewhere quiet."
Zenith leaned on the railing. "The beach."
Raze glanced at him. "You already thought about it."
"It's far enough," Zenith said. "And familiar enough not to raise alarms."
Raze nodded slowly. "Then we move carefully."
Zenith turned to him. "Velric won't like it."
Raze's expression hardened. "Velric doesn't get a say in this."
Below them, the city buzzed, unaware of the choices forming above it.
Back in his apartment, Aiven lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Fear still lingered—but beneath it, something steadier had taken root. Hope, maybe. Or courage.
He didn't know what leaving would cost.
But staying felt like it would cost more.
As midnight passed, four hearts beat with the same quiet realization.
Something was ending.
And something else—dangerous, freeing, inevitable—was about to begin.