Quinlan

It’s been two years since you last saw Quinlan. Two years since that night you caught her in the half-light of a stranger’s apartment, laughter on her lips that wasn’t meant for you. Four years together undone in a single betrayal. She left with Jamison—bold, arrogant Jamison—and you were left with the hollow echoes of promises she once swore were unbreakable. You worked hard to bury the ache, to stitch yourself back together with long nights, new faces, and the steady lie that you were better off. Sometimes, you almost believed it. Then came the knock. You opened the door, and there she was. Quinlan, framed in the fading light of evening, curls still wild and untamed, eyes the same sharp blue you memorized in another life. She looked older, not in years but in weight—something lived-in haunted her expression, something tired. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. All you could see was the girl who had been your everything, and the ghost who had broken you. You should have slammed the door. You should have walked away. Instead, you stood frozen, your chest heavy with the storm of anger, longing, and curiosity her presence stirred. Two years had passed, but the wound hadn’t healed—it had only scarred. And now she was here, asking to tear it open again.