The rain had stopped without anyone noticing.

  The pavement outside the facility still shone like it hadn’t decided what state it wanted to be in. Maya stood under the overhang near the entrance, jacket unzipped, breathing air that smelled faintly of oil and wet concrete.

  Kam stepped out beside her.

  No one followed.

  No doors slammed. No voices called after them. The building behind them settled into its own silence, already moving on.

  Maya didn’t look at him.

  She watched a maintenance van crawl past the gates, its hazard lights ticking slow and patient. Someone inside was drinking from a paper cup. Someone else was checking a phone.

  Life, continuing badly.

  “They didn’t even ask my name,” she said.

  Kam waited.

  “I mean,” she continued, voice steady but thin, “they asked for forms. Signatures. Emergency contact details. But not my name. Not once.”

  She finally looked at him.

  “Did you notice that?”

  Kam nodded.

  “I think,” Maya said, then stopped. She tried again. “I think if I don’t say something now, I won’t ever say it.”

  Kam didn’t move. He didn’t brace. He just stood where he was.

  “I know you tried,” she said. “I know that. I was there.”

  She gestured back toward the building with a small, sharp movement. “I saw you. I saw what it cost.”

  Kam said nothing.

  “But knowing that,” she continued, “doesn’t fix the part where he’s gone.”

  Her voice wavered on the word and she hated that it did. She pressed her lips together until it steadied again.

  “I keep thinking there’s a version of the night where we made a different turn,” she said. “Where we didn’t go left. Or where we stopped earlier. Or where I dropped him and ran for help instead of—”

  She cut herself off.

  Kam watched her hands. They were trembling now, just slightly.

  “There isn’t,” he said.

  Maya laughed once, sharp and humorless. “That’s supposed to help?”

  “It’s true,” Kam said.

  She looked at him for a long moment.

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  “That’s the problem,” she said quietly. “Everything you say is true. And I don’t know how to live inside that.”

  A gust of wind pushed rainwater off the edge of the awning. It splashed near their feet.

  “I don’t blame you,” she said, quickly, before he could speak. “I need you to hear that. This isn’t me blaming you.”

  Kam inclined his head.

  “But I also can’t stay,” she said.

  There it was.

  Not dramatic. Not framed. Just placed between them like an object neither of them wanted to touch.

  “If I stay,” she went on, “everything becomes about managing you. Or protecting you. Or pretending you don’t exist so they don’t notice.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want my life to be about what happens around you.”

  Kam absorbed that.

  “You shouldn’t,” he said.

  Maya flinched, like she’d expected resistance and hadn’t prepared for agreement.

  “That was too easy,” she said.

  Kam looked at her.

  “I don’t want you to stay because of me,” he said. “That would be worse.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Yeah,” she said. “It would.”

  They stood there in the quiet.

  A siren wailed somewhere far off, already fading.

  “I’m going to stay with my sister for a bit,” Maya said. “Out of the city.”

  Kam nodded again.

  “She has a dog,” Maya added, for no reason she could explain. “It sheds everywhere. It’s terrible.”

  Kam almost smiled. Almost.

  She noticed.

  That made it harder.

  Maya took a step closer, then stopped herself before it turned into something else. She reached into her pocket instead and pulled out her phone.

  “I’m not blocking you,” she said. “I just— I might not answer.”

  “I know,” Kam said.

  “If I see your name pop up,” she said, “I’ll want to fix things. Or explain things. Or ask questions that don’t have answers.”

  Kam didn’t argue.

  “I can’t do that right now.”

  “I know,” he said again.

  She exhaled, long and shaky.

  “This is the part where people say they’ll see each other,” she said. “Or that this isn’t goodbye.”

  She looked at him. “I don’t want to lie.”

  Kam met her eyes.

  “Then don’t,” he said.

  Maya nodded, grateful and furious all at once.

  She stepped back.

  Then, impulsively, she reached out and touched his arm.

  Just once.

  No heat.

  No reaction.

  Just contact.

  “Take care of yourself,” she said.

  Kam held still until she let go.

  She turned and walked down the steps, then across the street without looking back. She didn’t hurry. She didn’t run.

  Kam watched until she disappeared around the corner.

  Then he looked up at the building one last time.

  Nothing moved.

  No attention lingered.

  The city had already adjusted.

  Kam turned the other way and walked.

  Alone.

  The rain had stopped without anyone noticing.

  The pavement outside the facility still shone, slick and undecided. Maya stood under the overhang near the entrance, jacket unzipped, breathing air that smelled faintly of oil and wet concrete.

  Kam stepped out beside her.

  No one followed. No doors slammed. No voices called after them. The building behind them settled into its own silence, already moving on.

  Maya didn't look at him. She watched a maintenance van crawl past the gates, its hazard lights ticking slow and patient. Someone inside was drinking from a paper cup. Someone else was checking a phone.

  Life, continuing badly.

  "They didn't even ask my name," she said.

  Kam waited.

  "I mean," she continued, voice steady but thin, "they asked for forms. Signatures. Emergency contact details. But not my name. Not once."

  She finally looked at him. "Did you notice that?"

  Kam nodded.

  "I think," Maya said, then stopped. She tried again. "I think if I don't say something now, I won't ever say it."

  Kam didn't move. He didn't brace. He just stood where he was.

  "I know you tried," she said. "I know that. I was there." She gestured back toward the building with a small, sharp movement. "I saw you. I saw what it cost."

  Kam said nothing.

  "But knowing that doesn't fix the part where he's gone."

  Her voice wavered on the word and she hated that it did. She pressed her lips together until it steadied again.

  "I keep thinking there's a version of the night where we made a different turn," she said. "Where we didn't go left. Or where we stopped earlier. Or where I dropped him and ran for help instead of—"

  She cut herself off.

  Kam watched her hands. They were trembling now, just slightly.

  "There isn't," he said.

  Maya laughed once, sharp and humorless. "That's supposed to help?"

  "It's true," Kam said.

  She looked at him for a long moment. "That's the problem," she said quietly. "Everything you say is true. And I don't know how to live inside that."

  A gust of wind pushed rainwater off the edge of the awning. It splashed near their feet.

  "I don't blame you," she said quickly, before he could speak. "I need you to hear that. This isn't me blaming you."

  Kam inclined his head.

  "But I also can't stay," she said.

  There it was. Not dramatic. Not framed. Just placed between them like an object neither of them wanted to touch.

  "If I stay," she went on, "everything becomes about managing you. Or protecting you. Or pretending you don't exist so they don't notice." She shook her head. "I don't want my life to be about what happens around you."

  Kam absorbed that.

  "You shouldn't," he said.

  Maya flinched, like she'd expected resistance and hadn't prepared for agreement.

  "That was too easy," she said.

  Kam looked at her. "I don't want you to stay because of me," he said. "That would be worse."

  She nodded slowly. "Yeah," she said. "It would."

  They stood there in the quiet. A siren wailed somewhere far off, already fading.

  "I'm going to stay with my sister for a bit," Maya said. "Out of the city."

  Kam nodded.

  "She has a dog," Maya added, for no reason she could explain. "It sheds everywhere. It's terrible."

  Kam almost smiled. Almost.

  She noticed. That made it harder.

  Maya took a step closer, then stopped herself before it turned into something else. She reached into her pocket instead and pulled out her phone.

  "I'm not blocking you," she said. "I just—I might not answer."

  "I know," Kam said.

  "If I see your name pop up," she said, "I'll want to fix things. Or explain things. Or ask questions that don't have answers."

  Kam didn't argue.

  "I can't do that right now."

  "I know," he said again.

  She exhaled, long and shaky.

  "This is the part where people say they'll see each other," she said. "Or that this isn't goodbye." She looked at him. "I don't want to lie."

  Kam met her eyes. "Then don't," he said.

  Maya nodded, grateful and furious all at once.

  She stepped back. Then, impulsively, she reached out and touched his arm. Just once.

  No heat. No reaction. Just contact.

  "Take care of yourself," she said.

  Kam held still until she let go.

  She turned and walked down the steps, then across the street without looking back. She didn't hurry. She didn't run.

  Kam watched until she disappeared around the corner.

  Then he looked up at the building one last time. Nothing moved. No attention lingered.

  The city had already adjusted.

  Kam turned the other way and walked.

  Alone.

  77 Hours — Volume 2, Chapter 4: Alliance