The bridge loomed in the stillness of the night, its cold metal glinting faintly under the reluctant glow of the moon. Ryuji stood at the edge, his hands gripping the railing, the river below whispering in its endless current. The journal lay beside him, its pages untouched since Saori had walked out of his life. It was a relic now, weighed down by the echoes of his confessions and the shadows of a love he couldn't hold onto.

The air was heavy with silence. It pressed against him like an unspoken truth, one he'd spent months avoiding. His breath fogged in the chill, a fragile thing dissolving into the vast emptiness around him.

"Still chasing ghosts, Sol?"

The voice came from behind him, as soft as the night itself.

He turned, slow and deliberate, his heart clenching at the familiarity of it. And there she was.

Wren.

She stood just out of reach, her figure bathed in moonlight, her expression unreadable. She looked different somehow—her edges softer, her presence quieter, as if she'd stepped out of a dream.

"You," he breathed, disbelief twisting his voice.

Her lips curved faintly, but her gaze was steady, holding his like a mirror he didn't want to face. "Me," she replied, a note of something knowing in her tone.

Ryuji exhaled sharply, his chest tightening. "You're not real. You can't be."

"Maybe not," Wren said, taking a step closer. "But does it really matter?"

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. "What is this? Some cruel joke? Saori's gone. You're... You're not even—"

"Not even what?" she interrupted gently, tilting her head. "Not even supposed to exist?"

He fell silent, the weight of her words sinking into him.

Wren leaned against the railing, her gaze drifting to the river below. "Funny thing about shadows," she mused, her voice low and thoughtful. "They only show up when there's light."

Ryuji blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "What does that even mean?"

She glanced at him then, her eyes deep and unwavering. "It means you've been looking in the wrong places. Chasing the wrong things. You keep trying to hold onto what's already slipped through your fingers."

"And what's left for me, then?" he asked, his voice cracking. "What's left when everything I touch falls apart?"

Her smile was faint, almost imperceptible. "Maybe it's not about holding on. Maybe it's about learning to let go."

The words struck him like a knife, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. He turned away, gripping the railing tighter as the river roared in his ears.

"Why now?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Why are you here now?"

Wren didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer, her presence as light as a sigh. "Because you need to stop waiting for someone else to save you. It's time you figured out how to save yourself."

The silence that followed was deafening, stretching like the river beneath them.

When Ryuji finally looked up, she was gone.

But something was different. On the railing where she'd stood, a single slip of paper fluttered in the breeze. He picked it up, his fingers trembling. The handwriting was delicate, almost too familiar:

"When the light fades, what are you willing to do to find it again?"

He stared at the words, the ache in his chest shifting into something he couldn't name.

As he turned back toward the city, the paper still clutched in his hand, he felt the weight of her presence linger—just enough to make him wonder.

And somewhere in the distance, beneath the quiet hum of the streets, the echoes of something yet unfinished stirred.

Waiting to be found.