Before You Let Go
More like this girl has been emotionally dragged through multiple dimensions tired.
My eyes had shadows under them. The cut on my forehead was still there. My wrist was hidden, but I could feel the number waiting under my sleeve.
Eleven days.
I grabbed my shirt from the counter, then froze.
There was a small folded note leaning against a medicine bottle near the sink.
My stomach dropped.
I knew that handwriting.
Not Ruin’s.
Death’s.
Careful, old-fashioned, too calm.
I opened the note.
Mint?
That was it.