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Chapter Text

Prologue

Jhoanna’s POV:

As soon as I burst through the door, the smell of smoke wrapped around me like a heavy blanket. Flashing vibrant colors painted the whole place, in rhythm with the loud music. People packed together like the motion of the waves in the ocean.

Usually, I would have been excited by the atmosphere this place gave off. It was Friday night, the perfect time to drink, dance, and have fun. But I wasn’t here for any of that. I wasn’t here to drink, I wasn’t here to dance, I wasn’t here to have fun. I was here because I had to find Sheena.

My gaze pierced through the lights and the swaying bodies, searching for Sheena’s familiar figure. When standing by the door wasn’t enough to find her, I searched every inch of the bar. My heart pounded as I desperately looked for her. Finally, after what felt like forever, I spotted her—completely absorbed in a kiss with someone.

I acted on instinct. I didn’t hesitate. With no time to think, I shoved the girl away and yanked Sheena by the arm. It wasn’t until we were in the alley, away from the noise, away from the chaos, that I finally let go of her.

I couldn’t hold back and blurted out, “What the hell are you doing here?”

She crossed her arms and replied sarcastically, “Baka kasi umiinom ako?” Her sarcastic tone hit me like a slap.

I yanked an envelope from my jacket and threw it at her feet. “Alam mo ba kung ano yan?” She didn’t say anything. She was just silent. Just then, I gave her the answer. “It’s the letter from the school. Tanggal ka na. Ang dami mong bagsak na subjects.”

I worked hard to keep my anger in check, to hold it together, not wanting to scream at Sheena. Not my Sheena. But then, just when I thought I’d finally gotten through to her, she said, “Bakit ba andito ka? Ano bang pake mo?” The words stung more than I expected.

Her words were like fire, searing through the air. “Ka-dorm lang kita, Ate Jho, nothing more. Kaibigan lang kita. You don’t have any say over my decisions. I couldn’t care less if my life falls apart. Hindi kita ate, at lalong-lalo na hindi kita kapatid.” Her words burned with anger, and I struggled to stop myself from crying. Each one hit harder than the last, like knives to my heart.

I tried to smile through the pain, reaching out to her, but she pulled back. Sheena pulled away. My Sheena pulled away. It felt like I had lost everything, but I didn’t want to give up. “Bunso, uwi na tayo,” I said, my voice trembling with unshed tears.

Without another word, she turned away, and with a harsh tone, she said, “Umuwi ka na sa dorm.”

She walked away, and I stood there, my body too tired to chase after her. But I didn’t leave. I stayed. I just stood there, replaying her words in my mind, even as they twisted in my heart. Despite the pain, I waited, in case she needed me after everything. She may not consider me a sister, but she’s always been my little sister in my heart.

But as the night wore on, and I continued to wait in the dark alley, a group of guys began appearing, one by one. At first, I didn’t think much of it. A group of guys near a club was nothing out of the ordinary. But as they gathered around, I started to feel an uncomfortable shift in the air.

I was about to step away when a hand seized my arm, pulling me back roughly. One of the men held up a syringe filled with something I didn’t recognize, and his voice was low as he whispered, “He wants you back.” I tried to resist, struggling to free myself, but they were too strong. They pressed the needle into my neck, and within moments, a wave of sleepiness took over, my vision fading as I tried to stay conscious.

But as everything around me blurred and my body grew weaker, the last thing I could think of was Sheena.

Chapter Text

Sheena’s POV:

I was jolted awake by the loud banging on the door of our dorm apartment. I didn’t bother getting up, expecting Ate Jho to deal with it. However, the banging only grew louder, followed by Stacey’s voice calling both my name and Jho’s, echoing throughout the place.

Even though my body screamed against it, I forced myself to wake up. Stacey’s voice was quickly becoming a bigger cause of my headache than the alcohol I’d drunk the night before.

When I got up, I noticed Jho’s bed was empty, and everything from yesterday hit me all at once. The horrible words echoed in my mind. I had expected her to wait for me, selfishly so. But when I went out to find her last night and she wasn’t there, it tore me apart.

It hurts now, the emptiness I feel when I realize I was expecting the medicine and water to be on the bedside table—something Jho always made sure was there for me. But now she’s not here, probably far from me.

Stacey’s shouting jolted me out of my thoughts, and I rushed to the door. I was only expecting Stacey since she was the only voice I’d heard, but I was surprised to see everyone there—all the girls were standing at the door. Their faces were a mix of emotions—worry, anxiousness, and even a hint of fear.

Stacey’s voice broke through the tense silence, “Where’s Jho?” she asked, her tone trembling with urgency. I shook my head, unsure, and replied, “Hindi ko alam,” but Stacey cut me off with a scream. “She said she was going to fetch you! That’s the last thing she told me!”

Guilt began to creep in, but my confusion—and anger—overpowered it. I snapped back, yelling, “I didn’t tell her to come! Your girlfriend insisted because she acts like a hero—”

My words were cut short when Colet stepped in, “Don’t even start there.” Her voice was sharp and commanding. Everyone froze—Colet was the one person no one wanted to challenge.

Mikha stepped in, her usual calm demeanor softening the tension in the room. She was always the gentler counterpart to Colet. She turned to Stacey, "Alam kong nag-aalala ka. Lahat naman tayo. Pero hindi makakatulong 'to kung hanggang ngayon wala pa rin si Jho."

"Wait, what do you mean Ate Jho’s not here?" I blurted out. That’s when I noticed the sky outside, darkening with the setting sun. I had slept through almost the entire day? The realization hit me like a wave—Ate Jho had been gone the whole day.

Now I was beginning to understand why everyone seemed so terrified. A knot formed in my stomach, and fear crept in. Mikha turned to me, her calm, steadying presence slightly wavering but still comforting. She smiled faintly, as if to keep me grounded. "Do you have any idea where she might have gone?" she asked.

"Sinusubukan ka namin tawagan buong araw, pero hindi ka sumasagot. Kaya dumiretso na kami dito. Buong araw na namin siyang hinahanap." Her calm voice was almost enough to steady me, but the gravity of her words made my chest tighten.

I guided them into the living room, feeling the tears sting at the corners of my eyes. I started explaining everything that happened, trying to keep my composure. I told them everything, hoping to convince myself as much as them. "Maybe Ate Jho is just somewhere," I said, my voice cracking slightly. Stacey, however, was having none of it. "Hindi, hindi ganito si Jho," she interrupted, her voice laced with frustration and fear. "She always lets us know where she’s going." Her words filled the room with an uncomfortable silence.

Gwen nodded in agreement, offering her own suggestions. I caught myself staring at her longer than I should have. She was the reason behind my late nights, my distractions, and my failing grades. I wanted nothing more than to lean on her, but I knew—deep down—I was just a friend to her, nothing more. I couldn’t ignore the truth: to her, I was nothing more anymore.

Aiah, always the older and more responsible one, stepped in with a firm voice. "Let’s go to the police station now. We’ll report Jho. It might not have been 24 hours yet, but we can’t just sit here." Maloi gave a small, reassuring smile and said, "It’ll be fine. We’ll handle this, one step at a time."

Stacey’s POV:

We had just arrived at the police station, and Aiah was already at the counter, explaining the situation to the officers. As expected, they told her there wasn’t enough reason to file a missing person report yet—not until the 24-hour mark. I couldn’t even bring myself to speak, let alone move. My legs felt like they were weighed down with lead. All I could think about was Jho. I could faintly hear Colet’s voice rising in the background, shouting in frustration. Maloi, her ever-patient girlfriend, was doing her best to hold her back while Mikha tried to diffuse the tension with calming words. Gwen stayed close to Sheena, which struck me as odd considering their recent breakup, but maybe it wasn’t so surprising.

“Tangina, kilala mo ba tatay ko, ha? Isa akong Vergara, kaya sa gusto niyo man or hindi. Susundan niyo ko, hanapin niyo ang kaibigan ko!”

But none of it registered. Everything felt distant, like I was underwater. The chaos surrounding me blurred into white noise. In my mind, it was just Jhoanna—her face, her voice, her presence. The memory of her smile was enough to bring a lump to my throat. I couldn’t lose her.

But everything came to a halt when a policeman walked in, holding the hand of a child—a child who looked like she had been hurt. She was gently escorted to a small chair, the officer speaking to her quietly, trying to get her to say something. After a moment, he left her there, all alone.

In an instant, everything clicked—she looked exactly like Jhoanna. The way she was sitting, the way she carried herself, it was like I was looking at Jhoanna as a child. I called her name, drawing the attention of the other girls, but she didn’t look up. I called again, moving closer, but still, no reaction. It wasn’t until I said, "Tintin!" that she turned to face me.

Inside the car, Aiah held the sleeping child, but Sheena’s voice cut through the air again, asking if I was really sure it was Jhoanna. The words Sheena had said to her last night made my blood boil, but I didn’t hesitate to respond, “Yes,” I replied sharply. “I know my girlfriend."

The picture of young Jhoanna in my wallet felt heavy in my hands. How we had managed to free her from the policeman’s hold still puzzled me. But without missing a beat, I showed the officer the picture and said, "Aiah’s her sister."

Maloi asked first, her voice filled with confusion, "How did this happen again?" Gwen responded, her words heavy with frustration. "The officer said they saw her running, hurt, but they didn’t know how or where it started."

Aiah carefully asked, "Stacey, are you sure?" Stacey nodded, her voice calm but full of emotion. "I’m sure. I just can’t explain why she’s like this, but this is her. It’s no coincidence we couldn’t find her." We all watched quietly as Aiah brushed Jhoanna’s hair, the little girl asleep in her arms.

Chapter Text

Sheena's POV:

When we stepped into the dorm, the air felt heavier with unspoken understanding. None of us said it outright, but we all knew—we’d be staying here until we had answers. Ate Jho’s transformation was a mystery we couldn’t ignore. Ate Aiah had carried Jhoanna to the room, where she’d been sleeping ever since. There was a strange sense of calm watching her like this—innocent, at peace, and, for a moment, free of the mystery surrounding her.

When everything finally settled into silence, I felt Ate Colet’s gaze linger on me. She broke the quiet, her tone firm. "We still haven’t talked about you being expelled." I swallowed hard, hoping they’d let it slide, but I knew better. Trying to ease the tension, I joked, "At least may magbabantay kay Ate Jho kapag wala kayo."

The joke felt hollow. I could feel Gwen’s gaze burning into me. I avoided looking at her, fighting the pull, but when I finally did, it was a mistake. Her eyes were filled with concern. "Don’t," I begged silently. "Don’t look at me like that if you’re not going to take me back."

Ate Colet was just about to throw another harsh, biting remark when Gwen interrupted, her voice calm yet insistent. "Can we talk? Just the two of us?" she asked.

Without thinking, I shook my head, my voice colder than I’d ever heard it. "I’d rather listen to them scream at me all day than be in a room with you again."

Gwen’s eyes widened in shock, and the girls exchanged uneasy glances. I’d never spoken to her like that before. She hated being yelled at, despised conflict, and I’d always tiptoed around that. But not now. Not anymore. For the first time, I felt no need to protect her feelings.

"Hindi ko maintindihan," I began, my voice barely above a whisper, but the silence made every word echo. "Bigla kayong may paki ngayon? Pero nung naghiwalay kami ni Gwen…" I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. "Kanino ba kayong lahat unang tumakbo?"

No one answered. No one could.

"Kay Gwen," I said, the bitterness barely masking the pain. "Si Gwen ang inuna niyo. Lahat kayo. Nakalimutan niyo ata na andito rin ako. Na ako rin ’to. Si Ate Jho lang naman ang nandito para sa akin noon."

I looked down, my voice trembling. "At ngayon, ganito pa ang nangyari sa kanya. Ganito pa. Tapos yung huling mga sinabi ko pa sa kanya, ganon…" My throat tightened as tears spilled over. "Kahit hindi ko naman sinasadya."

"Alam ko," I began, my voice rising slightly with frustration, "sa amin dalawa ni Gwen, parang ako yung mas malakas, yung mas may kaya. Pero sana naman… sana naman inisip niyo rin ako."

I felt the words spill out faster than I could stop them. "Kasi kahit mukha akong kaya ko, hindi ibig sabihin na kaya ko talaga. Hindi ibig sabihin na hindi ko rin kailangan ng suporta niyo."

I let out a shaky breath, my voice softening. "Kailangan ko rin kayo. Kailangan ko kayong lahat. Si Ate Jho lang yun tiniis ako."

A tear slipped down my cheek as I finished. "Siya lang yung hindi ako iniwan."

Unexpectedly, a small, soft voice called out from the room. It was Jho.

"Ate, why are you crying?"

Her words hit me like a wave, and I felt my chest tighten. I could feel the tears building again, even stronger this time. She called me "Ate."

The innocence in her voice, the way she looked at me with concern—it broke me. I tried to smile through the tears, but it only made me cry harder.

She walked closer, her small feet barely making a sound, and wrapped her tiny arms around my legs.

"Ate, ice cream tayo ah," she whispered softly. "Magugustuhan mo ’yun pag sad ka."

I felt a small, broken laugh escape my lips, but then she looked up at me with those wide, innocent eyes. "Sino ba nang-away sa’yo? Sila ba?"

She pointed directly at the girls, her face scrunched up in childish determination.

I nodded, playing along, trying to find some relief in her innocence. When she turned to glare at them—her tiny face attempting to look angry—it was enough to make me laugh for real. Even now, even like this, she was still the one person who could pull me back from the edge.

I knelt down to her level, wrapping my arms tightly around her small frame as tears streamed down my face.

"Ate Jho, I’m so sorry," I choked out. "I didn’t mean any of those words. I’m not mad anymore, bati na tayo, please. Ikaw lang ang ate ko."

I buried my face in her tiny shoulder, my sobs shaking my body.

Young Jho froze for a moment, clearly surprised, but she stayed still, letting me cry. After a minute, she gently pushed me back. For a split second, I thought she might be upset, but then she said with a pout,

"Ate, ang O.A. mo. Kain na muna tayo, gutom na ako."

Her simple words broke through the heavy fog in my heart, and I couldn’t help but laugh through the tears.

Chapter Text

Aiah’s POV: 

I stood at the sink, staring blankly ahead, the sound of the water long gone but the weight of my thoughts still heavy. Everyone had gone to bed after dinner, leaving the house in a fragile silence. Sheena hadn’t joined us. Still upset from earlier, she stayed away, retreating to her room without a word.

Colet and Maloi had set up a makeshift bed in the living room, while Mikha and I did the same in Jho and Sheena’s room. Stacey, meanwhile, insisted on sleeping in Jho’s bed, softly muttering to herself about how the sheets still smelled like her. Gwen hadn’t stayed the night, which was for the best—she and Sheena were still raw from everything, unable to be near each other without tension filling the air.

Little Jho was glued to Sheena’s side, refusing to let her go, afraid the older girl might cry again. And Sheena, for all her usual strength, held onto Jho just as tightly. It was a quiet, fragile kind of comfort that spoke volumes.

As I finished wiping my hands and leaned against the counter, still lost in thought, Mikha’s voice suddenly cut through the quiet. Lighthearted yet warm, it pulled me back to the moment.
“Penny for your thoughts, gorgeous?” she teased, a hint of playfulness in her tone.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly at her words, the smallest flicker of relief breaking through the heaviness in my chest.

"Just thinking about Sheena. Everything that’s happened," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I’m the oldest here, but somehow I missed all the signs. She was right to feel the way she did."

Mikha leaned back against the counter, folding her arms as her lips curled into a small, wistful smile. Even now, she was beautiful in a way that felt impossible to reach—like starlight you could see but never touch.

"You’re not the only one who missed it," she said, her tone honest but not heavy. "We all let her down. None of us did enough. We have to be better than this."

"I’m so stupid, aren’t I?" The words fell out before I could stop them, barely audible, but Mikha didn’t miss them.

She reached over, her fingers brushing mine before gently wrapping my hand in hers. The small, comforting gesture almost made me tear up.

"You’re not stupid," she said, her tone soft yet steady. "Nobody’s stupid here. We just made a mistake—one we can still learn from. That’s what matters."

Her reassurance was quiet, but it held the weight of understanding, grounding me when I needed it most.

She added, "Sheena will come around. We’ll apologize to her tomorrow, okay?"

It wasn’t groundbreaking advice; it was the kind of reassurance you hear from everyone. But with Mikha, it always felt different. Her words carried a weight, a warmth that no one else’s ever did.

It’s like she understood me on a level no one else ever could. Like I was a song, and she was the writer—the only one who could see the story hidden between the notes.

With her so close, I could see every delicate detail of her face—the soft curve of her lips, the way her lashes brushed her cheeks. My gaze moved to her mouth, and I noticed her eyes flicking to mine, too. Slowly, like magnets, our faces began to close the distance. Closer and closer, the moment growing heavier with unspoken words—until…

"Ate ganda, water," came the innocent interruption.

The spell broke, and we both jumped back, startled by Jho's tiny voice from behind us.

Our eyes stayed locked, lingering for what felt like a second too long. That familiar ache crept in again. If I was the song, Mikha was the writer—crafting every lyric, every note. But I’d always remain an unreleased melody, hidden away in fear. Maybe the writer wasn’t ready to let the world hear the rawness, to reveal what the song truly meant. But isn’t that the beauty of it? The honesty of laying everything bare? 

Before I could spiral further, I turned away and lifted Jho into my arms. She immediately started playing with my hair, her little hands weaving through the strands like it was her personal playground. Somehow, that simple act pulled me back to the present, grounding me in her innocence. The tension between Mikha and me faded, replaced by this quiet moment with Jho.

I smiled softly. I could get used to this—this little Jhoanna, this simple, fleeting kind of peace.

“Ate Ganda, ang ganda mo,” she repeated over and over as I filled her cup with water. Her small voice was like a chant, sweet and sincere, and I couldn’t help but laugh softly at how easily she settled into that nickname.

It started earlier during dinner, when I was feeding her, and she kept calling me that. The irony wasn’t lost on me either—Jho, in her teenage years, used to have the biggest crush on me.

I smiled at the memory, shaking my head slightly as I handed her the water. Little Jho might have forgotten who she once was, but in moments like this, it felt like pieces of her old self still peeked through, even if she didn’t realize it.

While she drank, I leaned in and whispered softly, “Bading ka na bata ka pa lang.”

She paused for a moment, then looked up at me with a bright, innocent smile—completely unaware of the meaning behind my words. It made me laugh softly, reminded of how pure she was now, so far from the complexities and heartbreaks that used to weigh her down.

The next morning, the dining table was alive with quiet chatter and the clinking of plates. Jho sat comfortably on Ate Colet’s lap, her small hands wandering over Colet’s face like it was her playground.

Maloi sat beside them, patiently feeding Jho spoonfuls of food while Colet… well, she wasn’t complaining. She had this uncharacteristically soft expression, one that caught me off guard. For someone who always lost her patience around kids, Colet seemed at peace, almost amused, as if Jho’s presence melted a part of her that none of us had ever seen before.

I couldn’t help but notice how Stacey’s eyes lingered on Jho for just a little too long. No one had mentioned it yet, but there was something off—Jho seemed distant, almost afraid of Stacey.

It became even more apparent when Stacey tried to feed her. Jho’s small face crumpled, and tears spilled over as she started crying. The tension in the room was suffocating until Colet stepped in and carried her. Strangely, the tears stopped almost instantly.

It was odd—Jho was as fond of Colet as she was cautious around her. But today, she clung to Colet like her life depended on it.

The quiet at the table was suffocating. No one dared to break it, the weight of Sheena’s absence looming over us like a storm cloud. We all kept stealing glances at her door, waiting, hoping. When it finally opened, the sound was louder than it should have been, echoing through the room.

Sheena walked out with no expression, sat down, and started eating like we were invisible. The tension only grew heavier with every bite she took.

Colet shifted in her seat, adjusting Jho, who was hanging on her back and tugging at her hair. Jho’s soft giggles were the only thing keeping the moment from collapsing completely.

Taking a deep breath, Colet broke the silence. Her voice wasn’t as composed as it had been during our earlier rehearsals.

“Kinausap ko na si Papa,” she said, her words deliberate but slightly strained. “Sabi ko, gawan ng paraan para makabalik ka.”

“Kilala mo naman si Papa,” Colet said, her tone carrying a rare softness that caught my attention. “For sure, makakapasok ka naman ulit.”

Moments like this made me pause and really see her. Colet wasn’t the type to wear her heart on her sleeve—she was tough, sharp, and didn’t waste words. But when she softened, it felt like witnessing something rare and precious.

She hated her last name, hated everything it stood for. And yet, when it came to us, she would use it without a second thought. Her disdain for her father didn’t matter in these moments. What mattered was that she’d do whatever it took for us, even if it meant leaning on the one thing she despised most.

Watching her now, holding Jho steady on her back, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of gratitude. She cared—quietly, fiercely, and in ways she didn’t need words to explain.

Sheena stopped eating. Her fork froze mid-air as her eyes dropped to her plate, and I couldn’t keep going either. The room felt heavier, like every unspoken word had finally caught up with us.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’m sorry we didn’t notice you at all. I’m sorry kung puro si Gwen lang.”

She didn’t look up, but I kept going, needing her to hear it. “I’m sorry na akala namin kaya mo. I’m sorry for everything, bunso.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. I felt my throat tighten, and for a moment, I thought she wouldn’t respond.

Maloi spoke next, her voice soft and steady. “I’m sorry kung hindi napansin nila Ate mo, ha? Sorry na nagkulang kami sayo.”

She paused, her gaze earnest as she looked at Sheena. “Hindi na lang si Jho ang andito para sayo, andito na rin kami. Hindi ka na namin iiwan, bebe. I’m sorry.”

Her words felt like a promise, wrapping around the room with the warmth and sincerity we’d all been searching for.

Mikha tried to lighten the mood, her voice gentle but teasing. “You’re still our bunso, Sheena. I’m sorry, okay? Alam ko, kulang pa rin siguro ‘to, pero…” She held up the box with a small grin. “Binilhan ka namin ng food. Palitaw, diba? Favorite mo yun, oo, ayun.”

Her tone softened as she placed it in front of Sheena. “Sana magustuhan mo kahit papano.”

Stacey’s voice cracked as tears welled in her eyes. “Sorry, She. Sorry for screaming at you and being harsh. Alam kong ang bigat pa rin ng pinagdadaanan mo—yung nangyari sa inyo ni Gwen… pero sana, She, wag mo na ulit ganunin yung girlfriend ko.” She took a shaky breath, her hands trembling slightly.

“Alam mo, mahal na mahal ka non. Baka nga, kung nasa dagat tayo, ikaw pa rin pipiliin non. Kasi alam niyang kaya kong lumangoy, pero ikaw… ikaw hindi.” Stacey looked down, her voice softening further. “I’m sorry, She. Mahal na mahal ka ni Ate, at mahal kita, sobra.”

Out of nowhere, Jho slipped down from Colet’s back and ran over to Sheena, climbing into her lap with all the energy and confidence of a child who knew she was loved. Wrapping her arms around Sheena tightly, she declared, “Mahal ka namin lahat, Ate!” Her little voice was full of sincerity, and before anyone could react, she started planting exaggerated kisses on Sheena’s cheeks. “Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!”

Sheena blinked in surprise, her lips trembling before they curved into a smile. Tears welled in her eyes, but this time they weren’t from pain. As Jho’s giggles filled the room, Sheena let herself laugh, holding the little girl tightly as if she were her lifeline.

Colet, fighting to stay composed, crossed her arms and looked at Sheena with a mix of sternness and tenderness. “Umayos ka na, ha. Mag-aral ka ulit,” she said, her voice softer than usual, almost breaking. “Hindi ko kaya kung masisira lahat ng pinaghirapan mo... dahil lang sa nangyari sa inyo ni Gwen.”

She cleared her throat, her gaze falling to the floor as she forced a small smile. “Hindi kakayanin ni Ate,” she added, her tone cracking slightly despite her efforts to sound nonchalant.

The rest of the day passed smoothly, with us lost in laughter and games with Jho. For a short while, we managed to forget about everything—about how Jho needed to be transformed back into her normal self. The moment felt suspended, like we were suspended in a world where things were just... okay.

Chapter Text

Colet’s POV: 

I was the first to arrive at the dorm. Sheena had insisted that we all head back early—something about Jhoanna and the mystery surrounding her. I still had a few classes left to attend, but I didn’t care. All that mattered right now was Jhoanna.

Before I could even set my bag down, she came barreling toward me, her little legs pumping as she held Mikha’s iPad high like a trophy. At this point, it might as well have been hers. She’d practically claimed it, her tiny fingers swiping through its screen with the confidence of someone twice her age.

I scooped Jhoanna up into my arms, tossing her into the air as her laughter bubbled around us. For a fleeting moment, her joy was all that mattered. But as I set her down and watched her scurry back to the sofa with Mikha’s iPad in hand, something caught my eye—a corkboard, dead center in the living room.

Curiosity pulled me toward it. Pinned to its surface were clippings with names, old newspaper articles about missing people, and scattered notes that didn’t seem to fit together—yet. My stomach tightened as I tried to make sense of it. Just as I opened my mouth to ask, a voice cut through the air.

“Hep!” Sheena said, stopping me in my tracks. “Explain ko kapag nakauwi na silang lahat.”

To save time, I asked her, “Naayos mo na ba papers mo para makabalik ka na sa school?”

Sheena gave me a nod, her tone steady. “Oo, pero siguro mga one week pa ako dito bago bumalik. Kaya may oras pa ako para ayusin ‘to—at para kay Jhoanna na rin. Kailangan ko rin siyang alagaan habang nandito ako.”

Then she turned the tables on me, smirking. “Ikaw nga, ang OA mo na malulungkot ka kung hindi ko inayos yung pag-aaral ko, eh ikaw halos hindi na pumapasok!”

I looked at her and said, “Kasi hindi ka naman ganon, Sheena. Hindi ka tamad. Hindi ka bagsakin. Ang sipag mo kaya mag-aral. Kaya nung nakita kong nagkakaganon ka na, tingin mo, hindi ako masasaktan?”

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my composure. “Ako? Bumagsak na ako, Sheena. Lahat ng pagkakamali, dinaanan ko na. Pero ikaw, alam kong kaya mong may marating. Sa ating lahat dito, ako yung walang pupuntahan—pero ikaw, hindi ka pwedeng sumuko.”

She looked at me like she wanted to say something more. “Ate Colet—” But whatever she was about to say was cut short when Maloi entered the dorm. I immediately walked toward her and planted a kiss on her forehead—my girlfriend, my Maloi.

Jhoanna, as expected, ran toward her too, but I jokingly blocked her way, not letting her get close. Maloi laughed at first, amused by the playful rivalry, but eventually, her tone softened as she nudged me to stop. Jhoanna’s face was already on the verge of crumpling into tears.

Eventually, Mikha and Aiah arrived. Mikha had brought Jollibee for Jhoanna, who immediately jumped for joy, her excitement filling the room.

But Aiah’s attention went straight to Jhoanna clutching Mikha’s iPad. She smacked Mikha’s arm with a groan. “Sabi ko sayo, wag ibigay sa kanya yan! Lalabo mata niyan, maadik siya sa ganyan. Ikaw naman, Sheena, why did you let her?”

Sheena rolled her eyes and replied without missing a beat, “Ate Aiah, ano pa bang drama mo? Bulag naman na talaga si Ate Jho. Kahit ngayon mo pa alagaan yan, apat na talaga mata niya. Pwede na ngang mag-PWD eh.”

The room erupted in laughter, everyone doubling over except for Aiah, who stood there frustrated while Jhoanna happily devoured her Jollibee, being fed by Mikha.

Not a second later, Stacey arrived. For the first time in a long while, she had that familiar smile on her face—the kind we hadn’t seen since Jho turned into a kid. But the moment she caught sight of Mikha feeding Jho Jollibee, her smile faltered.

She was holding a bag of her own, filled with the same food, her intent painfully clear. She was trying—trying so hard to connect with Jhoanna, to win her over.

But Jhoanna didn’t seem to care. She stayed glued to Mikha, oblivious to Stacey’s presence. It was the unspoken truth hanging over us: Jhoanna didn’t like Stacey, and Stacey’s heart seemed to break a little more every time.

When our eyes met, I gave Stacey a small, sympathetic look. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could offer in the moment.

Aiah, sensing the tension and trying to save the moment, walked over to Jhoanna with a bright smile. She crouched down and said, “Tintin, may dala si Ate Stacey. May Jollibee oh! Ito naman kainin mo bukas, ha?”

But Jho didn’t even blink. Her silence hung in the air, louder than any words. Aiah frowned, her playful demeanor slipping as she looked ready to scold the little girl for her behavior.

Stacey stepped in before she could. “Okay lang,” she said softly, her voice calm but tinged with something raw. She didn’t try to force anything.

Carrying the Jollibee meal, Stacey quietly placed it in the fridge, then sank onto the couch. She stayed there, her shoulders slightly hunched, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear, she murmured, “Fave niya Jollibee, eh.”

There was something about the way she said it, so resigned and bittersweet, that left an ache in my chest.

Gwen arrived last, as usual. And just like with everyone else except Stacey, Jho ran up to her with open arms, wrapping her small hands tightly around Gwen’s legs. Gwen smiled softly, leaning down to pat Jhoanna’s head.

She held a box in her hand, and for a moment, I thought it was for Jho. But Gwen walked past her and stopped in front of Sheena, holding the box out.

“Palitaw,” she said simply, her voice calm yet deliberate.

Sheena’s eyes flickered with something—gratitude, maybe, or relief—but she didn’t say anything just yet. Gwen placed the box down and walked over to the kitchen island, sitting with Mikha and Aiah, who were already huddled together.

Meanwhile, Maloi, Stacey, and I stayed on the couch. Jho was sprawled out on the carpet, now busy building towers out of Legos—Aiah’s insistence after confiscating the iPad.

At the center of it all, Sheena stood in front of the corkboard. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air as we all silently waited for her to begin.

Sheena exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the table as she started speaking. “Have you guys noticed? Missing people around here—around our area—it’s been getting worse. It’s not just isolated cases anymore. Here in Manila, it’s everywhere.”

Maloi chimed in, her voice laced with concern. “Yung kaklase ko nga... she went missing last week. She hasn’t been found.”

Sheena’s expression darkened. “Exactly. I’ve been digging into the reports, and earlier today, there was another news update. More disappearances. Almost 100 people now. And it’s always the same pattern—students.”

The room fell silent, the gravity of her words sinking in. Sheena’s gaze flicked to Jhoanna briefly before continuing.

“I don’t know if all these cases are connected or not,” she said, her tone sharp with urgency. “But do you know what finally convinced me that this might have something to do with Jho?”

Her words lingered in the air, pulling all our attention toward her.

Sheena turned on the TV, her movements deliberate. A news report flickered on the screen, showing a young girl being interviewed.

At first, nothing seemed unusual—until she spoke.

“Oo, isa ako sa mga nakidnap. Pero hindi ako natakot. Hindi nila ako sinaktan. Nakabalik pa nga ako... mas bumata pa nga ako.”

I blinked, confused, but as I looked closer, a strange chill crept down my spine. Something wasn’t right.

Her height—she was too short to be our age, far too small. Her face—it was almost unnaturally smooth, baby-like, as though she’d regressed in time. And her eyes—they had an eerie, vacant quality, like they’d seen things none of us could imagine.

The unease was palpable, spreading through the room like a cold draft.

Sheena paused the clip, her expression grim. “Now you see it, don’t you? That’s why I’m convinced—there’s more to this than just random kidnappings.”

Gwen’s voice cut through the conversation. “When did the kidnappings start?”

Sheena didn’t hesitate. “Just last month.”

A heavy silence fell over us as Gwen lingered on the thought. Then, almost hesitantly, she said, “A scientist broke out of prison last month. I can’t remember his name, but I’m sure it happened.”

We weren’t surprised by Gwen’s knowledge. Science was her world, and she lived and breathed it. Most of the time, her ramblings about experiments and discoveries would make our heads spin.

But Sheena? She was different. She hung onto Gwen’s every word, her eyes lighting up like Gwen was explaining the secrets of the universe just to her. And now, as Gwen spoke, Sheena wore that same look again—like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Are you saying that my girlfriend might have been a victim of an experiment gone wrong?” Stacey’s voice was calm, almost too calm, as she spoke.

We all froze, the weight of her question pressing down on us. She sounded detached, but her hands trembled slightly as she crossed her arms.

I didn’t know what to say. The idea was horrifying, and yet, it made an unsettling kind of sense. If it were true, the process must have been unbearable for Jho.

I glanced at her, sitting quietly on the carpet. She deserved answers as much as we did—maybe more.

“As much as it scares me, it’s the only explanation that fits,” Aiah said quietly. “Unless magic is real, which…” She trailed off, shrugging lightly.

The silence grew again until Mikha broke it, her voice careful. “Do you think we should… ask Jho? About what happened?”

I shook my head quickly, my voice cutting through her words. “No. Nobody’s going to question her.”

The weight of my resolve pressed down on the room. “If you want to push, you’ll have to go through me first. I won’t risk triggering her. She’s our Jho, and I don’t care how hard this gets. No harm will come to her—whether she remembers or not. Do you understand?”

I searched their faces for any sign of resistance, but all I saw was quiet agreement.

This was the part of me I hated most. My attitude—it had its uses, but it also came with a shadow. His shadow. My father’s. The one person I loathed with every ounce of my being. And every time I acted like this, it felt like he was clawing his way back through me.

Jho stayed in the center, her small hands moving the Legos as if nothing in the world could harm her. If our fears were right, this was only the beginning. Danger wasn’t just lurking—it was circling, waiting. And Jho, innocent and vulnerable, was at the center of it all.

Chapter Text

Mikha’s POV:

It was the weekend, and despite Gwen's best efforts, she still hadn’t uncovered the identity of the scientist responsible for Jhoanna’s mysterious transformation. I could see the weight of her frustration in the way she flipped through books and papers—her eyes tired but determined. All of us were doing our part—researching, combing through every lead we could find. But no matter how hard we tried, we always came up empty-handed. There was nothing solid to hold onto.

In the background, Jhoanna was blissfully unaware, playing with her toys and giggling. The contrast between her carefree joy and the intensity in the room couldn’t have been starker. It was a reminder of what we were fighting for.

Sensing the heavy atmosphere, I decided it was time for a break. I stood up, trying to shift the mood. “Tintin,” I said, “how about we go to the mall?”

The girls immediately protested, hesitant to pause the search. They wanted to keep digging, but I cut them off, my voice firm yet gentle. “If the older Jho were here, she’d suggest something like this. Look at her—she’s practically jumping out of her skin with excitement. She deserves a little fun.”

As if on cue, Jhoanna looked up from her toys, her face lighting up as she clasped her tiny hands together. “Sige na, mga ate! Mall tayo! Please! Please!”

Her plea was irresistible, and a part of me hoped this little distraction would give us all the peace we desperately needed, even if just for a moment.

I wanted Jhoanna to have some fun, so I decided to take her to the mall on my motorcycle. I’d recently brought it over to Sheena and Jho’s dorm, and since the older Jhoanna had loved riding, I figured little Jhoanna might feel the same. The moment she got on, I knew I’d made the right call—she was grinning from ear to ear, laughing all the way. It was like the ride of her life, and honestly, I wished I could capture that pure joy and hold onto it forever.

When we arrived at the mall, I parked my motorcycle and caught sight of Colet’s car in the distance. Aiah was driving, with Colet in the passenger seat. Aiah’s eyes locked on me and Jho, practically shooting daggers. I knew she wasn’t happy about my decision—she’d been vocal about her disapproval earlier. But I couldn’t help smiling. Even when she was mad at me, there was something about her—like a flower blooming—that made her stand out, no matter what.

As I helped Jho off the motorcycle, her joy was contagious. “Si Ate Ganda, galit sa atin!” she teased, glancing at the girls glaring at us from the car.

We dashed into the mall, away from their storm of disapproval. I chuckled softly, bending down to Jho’s level. “Hindi yan galit. Love ka nun. Hindi yun magagalit sa atin,” I reassured her. We ducked behind a café near the entrance, the perfect hiding spot for our little escape.

Aiah’s POV:

My blood boiled when I saw Jho and Mikha get off the motorcycle. Letting Jho ride it was reckless, a terrible idea. But as I watched them, running into the mall with so much joy, my anger started to melt away. Still, Mikha looked stunning. The way she stepped off that bike—she was effortlessly beautiful, so precious, but so far out of reach. My thoughts wandered, consumed by feelings I didn’t know how to deal with.

Then I felt someone nudge me from the backseat. When I turned, it was Sheena.

“Poging-pogi ka na naman kay Mikha niyan, Ate,” she teased. The girls in the backseat giggled, their voices a chorus of “Yieee!”

I chuckled, though there was a nervous edge to it. “Ewan ko sa inyo.”

But my attention shifted to Stacey, sitting quietly, looking almost broken. I knew it was taking a toll on her—the way Jhoanna didn’t seem to want her around. I turned to her, my voice soft but firm.

“You good, Stacey?”

The car fell silent, everyone knowing exactly what I meant. Stacey managed a weak smile, but the hurt in her eyes was unmistakable.

Out of nowhere, Colet spoke, her voice surprisingly gentle. “She loves you, you know. A kid or not, she loves you more than anything. Mahal ka nun.”

“Baka nga crush ka lang niya, kaya hindi lumalapit,” Sheena added playfully. “Natatakot. Sa ganyan din naman nagsimula love story niyo—sa pagiging torpe ni Ate Jho.”

Stacey’s smile faltered as she whispered, “I just miss her.”

The car grew silent again.

Finally, I spoke, my voice raw with emotion. “We miss her too." We love the Jho we have now—no matter what form she’s in. Kid, teenager, or adult—we’ll always love her. But we miss her. We miss the way she used to be.

After parking next to Mikha’s motorcycle, the girls and I rushed inside, scanning the entrance. It wasn’t hard to spot Mikha and Jho—they weren’t exactly masters of stealth. They were hiding behind a nearby café, in plain view. Mikha caught our eye, mouthing for us to play along and pretend we hadn’t seen them.

We rolled our eyes but went along with it, pretending to scan the area like we couldn’t see them. Step by step, we crept closer, trying not to laugh. And then—bam! Little Jhoanna jumped out, yelling and waving her arms to surprise us.

We went all in, clutching our hearts, gasping dramatically, and shrieking as though it was the most unexpected thing ever. Jho doubled over with laughter, her joy infectious. Watching her light up like that made it all worth it.

Mikha’s laughter rang out as she bent slightly, her voice a soothing whisper next to Jho’s ear. “See? I told you—they’re not mad at you, just worried.” Her tone was comforting, her presence like a shield for Jho.

Colet knelt slightly, meeting Jho’s eyes with a warm smile. “Saan mo gusto pumunta, bunso namin?”

Jho’s eyes sparkled as she chirped, “Kahit saan! Basta kasama ko kayo!” With a giggle, she ran straight to Colet, who picked her up and spun her around. Jho’s tiny hands brushed against Maloi’s face as she playfully traced a pretend mustache.

Sheena, ever the scene-stealer, stomped in with exaggerated drama. “Hoy! Ako? Hindi ba ako tatanungin? Akala ko ba ako ang bunso dito?”

Without missing a beat, Stacey smirked. “Bakit? Sino ka ba?”

The laughter that followed echoed around us, warm and genuine. Before long, we had all decided—the arcade would be our next stop.

Stacey’s POV

I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to be the one riding with Jho right now. Watching her sit in that animal-shaped mechanical car, her face lit with laughter, tugged at something deep inside me. I wanted to be the one guiding her, the one she trusted. But how could I, when this younger version of her seemed to avoid me at all costs?

She was nothing like the Jho I once knew—the one who clung to me, who made me feel like I was her world. This Jho wasn’t mine—not yet.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to ruin this moment. Everyone was so happy, their laughter filling the air like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Even I couldn’t help but be amused when I saw Gwen—cold, serious Gwen—awkwardly riding with Jho. She clearly didn’t want to look foolish, but for Jho, she didn’t care.

Phones were raised high, capturing the moment. Not just for Jho but for us, too.

Colet, clearly entertained in a way she rarely ever was, cracked a joke. “Sarap mo naman, Gwen! Sarap mo naman sakyan!” The laugh burst out of me before I could stop it, especially when I caught Sheena’s sharp glare slicing through the air straight at Colet. Their breakup might’ve been official, but Sheena’s reaction screamed mine. They were supposed to be over—done—but moments like these made it obvious: they weren’t done with each other. Not entirely.

Unexpectedly, Gwen stepped off the ride, leaving Jho to circle alone. For a moment, I thought she was irritated—maybe at the teasing, maybe at us—but then she turned to me, her expression unreadable.

“You go,” she said firmly.

I hesitated, protests bubbling to the surface. Jho doesn’t even like me right now. But before I could speak, the girls were on me, shoving me toward the ride. Gwen, of all people, was the most insistent, her hand firm on my shoulder. She was trying to bridge a gap I wasn’t sure could be closed.

I eased into the ride with Jho, hoping she wouldn’t notice the switch. For a moment, she didn’t. She kept laughing, enjoying herself like nothing had changed, and I let myself believe—just for a second—that maybe things weren’t so bad.

But then she glanced over. Her expression shifted in an instant. Before I could say anything, she climbed down, too fast for me to stop her. I tried to help her, but she was already darting off, her little legs carrying her toward the crowd.

The girls called out, but it was Aiah who sprinted after her, her long strides closing the distance. The rest of us stayed behind, watching helplessly. Sheena shook her head, muttering, “Ate, hayaan mo siya. Pagbalik non, babatukan ko kahit bata pa siya.”

Before I could respond, the unexpected happened. Jho came running back, Aiah trailing behind her, looking just as confused as the rest of us. Jho’s tiny hands clutched a single rose, and behind her, a vendor followed, waving a bouquet and looking mildly annoyed.

She stopped right in front of me, her face flushed from running, and held out the rose. Her movements were shy, her expression hesitant, but there was something earnest in her eyes.

I stared, confused but touched. And as I took the flower, a smile found its way to my lips.

Aiah stopped in front of Jho, her breaths coming fast, the vendor standing beside her with a weary look. Jho had retreated behind Colet, clutching the back of her shirt as though it were a shield.

The vendor explained how Jho had taken a rose without paying for it, his voice edged with frustration. Mikha stepped forward, offering payment with an apologetic laugh, but the tension in the air remained.

Aiah’s serious expression told us this wasn’t a moment for jokes. She knelt so their eyes were level. “Listen to me, Jho. You can’t do that again. Running away is dangerous—you could get hurt or lost. And taking something without paying for it? That’s stealing. Do you know what stealing means?”

Jho shook her head, her small frame trembling slightly. Aiah turned to Colet, who immediately understood the unspoken request.

“Alright, bunso,” Colet began, crouching down next to Aiah. Her tone was warm but firm. “Stealing means taking something that doesn’t belong to you without permission or paying for it. Even if you didn’t mean anything bad by it, it’s still wrong. Do you get it?”

Jho nodded slowly, her face a mixture of guilt and understanding. Colet glanced at Aiah, who gave her a small nod of approval. It was a rare moment of teamwork, one that left an unexpected warmth lingering between us all.

Sheena, still standing beside me, nudged my arm with a teasing grin. “I told you, crush ka lang niyan kaya siguro ayaw sayo. Haba na naman ng hair mo, ate. Hindi lang puso mo yung ninakaw, pati bulaklak pa para sayo.”

Her words dripped with playful sarcasm, but the glint in her eyes made it hard not to laugh. I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the small smile creeping up my face.

Later, it was just me and Jho left in the parking lot, waiting for the girls to return with the car. They’d left us behind because Jho wanted to go to the bathroom, and I insisted on coming with her.

As we stood there, the flower she’d given me earlier played over in my mind. It felt like such a small gesture, but it carried so much meaning. Maybe she wasn’t avoiding me out of dislike—maybe she was just shy. And as foolish as it sounds, I couldn’t help but wonder if this little version of Jho might actually have a tiny crush on me.

A black van came to a halt right in front of us. At first, I didn’t think much of it—it wasn’t our car. I turned to Jho, ready to walk toward Mikha, who was now pulling up on her motorcycle with the car trailing behind her.

Everything happened too fast.

Men poured out, grabbing us roughly. Jho cried out, and I struggled to hold onto her as they threw us into the van. The girls’ screams pierced the air, their panic mixing with my own.

I caught one last glimpse of the flower Jho had given me—it lay on the ground, crushed and forgotten.

Chapter Text

Third person’s POV: 

Inside the van, Stacey clung to Jhoanna, shielding her small body as the armed men loomed closer. Jhoanna’s cries filled the confined space, her tiny hands gripping the back of Stacey’s shirt like a lifeline. Stacey fought with everything she had, her arms and legs thrashing, blocking every attempt the men made to grab the child.

But then, through her sobs, Jhoanna did something that made Stacey freeze.

“‘Wag niyo hawakan, ate ko!” Jhoanna screamed, her small voice trembling but filled with defiance. She tried to push past Stacey, her tears streaming, but her resolve unshaken. Even now, as just a child, she was trying to protect Stacey—just as she always had before.

For a brief moment, Stacey’s heart shattered and swelled all at once. That was her Jhoanna.

But they were only two: Stacey, an adult fighting with everything she had, and Jhoanna, a small child trying to stand against the world. The men were too many, their brute strength overwhelming.

One lunged forward, seizing Stacey by the arms and pinning her back against the van’s cold interior. She fought wildly, her heart pounding, her only thought to keep Jhoanna safe.

Another man reached for Jhoanna, whose screams tore through the air like knives. “Ate!” she cried, kicking and clawing at the hands that tried to take her. But she was too small, too fragile.

The man gripped her firmly, and before Stacey could even process what was happening, he plunged a syringe into Jhoanna’s neck.

“No!” Stacey’s voice broke as Jhoanna’s tiny body went limp, her head slumping forward as her cries faded into silence. “Jhoanna!”

Stacey’s rage boiled over. She kicked, screamed, and thrashed against the man holding her, but she barely registered the cold sting of a needle pressing into her own neck.

As the darkness consumed her, Stacey’s hand reached out blindly, searching for Jhoanna. Her fingers brushed against the child’s soft hand for one fleeting moment before everything faded to black.

Her Jhoanna.

Outside the Van

Six determined girls tore through the streets, their vehicles racing like shadows in the night. The city was eerily silent, the roar of engines and the thundering of their hearts the only sounds breaking the stillness.

Mikha led the charge, her motorcycle slicing through the dark like a blade. Behind her, Aiah gripped the wheel of their car, her nerves teetering on the edge but her focus sharp.

In the passenger seat, Colet rummaged through the glove compartment and pulled out three guns, the cold metal gleaming in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

She turned to the others, her expression unreadable but her voice steady. “We’re not taking chances. Use these if you need to.”

The atmosphere in the car shifted, the weight of her words sinking in like a stone.

Gwen was the first to reach out, her hands steady as she took a gun. The others exchanged nervous glances, their hesitation thick in the air, but they knew the stakes.

Aiah tightened her grip on the wheel as Colet handed out the remaining weapons. None of them wanted to use them, but if it came down to it, they would.

Colet rolled down her window, the wind whipping her hair as she called out to Mikha. The motorcycle slowed, perfectly aligning with the car. Their eyes locked for a brief moment—no words, just understanding.

Colet grabbed a gun and held it out of the window. Mikha reached out, catching it mid-air with practiced ease. Without hesitation, she revved her engine and surged ahead, her determination unwavering.

The van driver must have realized they were gaining on him because he swerved wildly, picking up speed. Colet didn’t flinch. She rolled down her window further and leaned out, taking careful aim.

The gunshot rang out, shattering the silence of the night. The girls yelped in shock, their eyes darting to Colet, who remained eerily calm.

The bullet hit its mark—the van’s back wheel exploded with a sharp sound. The vehicle lurched, swaying violently as the driver struggled for control.

“Holy—!” Gwen’s voice broke through the tense silence. She stared at Colet, barely holding onto her own gun as she tried to process what she’d just seen.

“Putangina, Ate Maloi!” Sheena shouted, half in disbelief, half in panic. “Anak ba ng mafia boss girlfriend mo?!”

Despite the tension, a flicker of laughter threatened to rise, but Colet’s focus remained razor-sharp.

Mikha’s pulse raced as she closed the distance between her motorcycle and the van. She aimed carefully, her hands steady as she fired at the front wheel. She couldn’t risk hitting the van itself—not with Stacey and Jhoanna inside.

The tire burst with a deafening pop. The van veered sharply, swerving out of control.

But before the girls could feel relief, another gunshot pierced the air—louder, sharper.

Mikha’s breath caught in her throat. This shot wasn’t hers.

The bullet zipped dangerously close to Mikha, so near she swore she could feel its heat. “Mikha!” Aiah’s voice cracked through the chaos, raw with fear, as every girl in the chase realized how close she had come to being hit.

Another shot rang out—this time from Gwen. She wasn’t experienced with guns, her aim shaky, but her determination shone through. She fired with resolve, each pull of the trigger carrying the weight of her fear and defiance.

Sheena’s eyes flicked to Gwen for just a moment, her heart pounding as she muttered under her breath, “Of all times,why does this have to be when she looks the hottest?” She shook her head, forcing herself to focus.

Colet didn’t hesitate. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical, as she aimed her gun and fired again. The shot echoed loudly, piercing the air. This time, it struck the van’s wheel dead on. Sparks flew as the vehicle screeched and wobbled, struggling for control.

For a moment, hope flickered in the girls’ chests—but then a sharp, deafening shot shattered that hope.

The girls froze, terror taking over them as they assumed the worst. For a heartbeat, they thought Mikha had been hit. Relief came in a rush when they realized it wasn’t Mikha but their own car’s tires that had been targeted.

It didn’t matter. The fear settled in their bones, heavy and suffocating, making it hard to breathe.

Mikha didn’t falter. With the same razor-sharp focus, she aimed and fired straight through the van’s windshield. The driver and passenger slumped forward, lifeless, as the van veered erratically.

The girls thought they’d won. For one fleeting moment, it felt like they’d saved Stacey and Jhoanna. They’d go home.

But hope was cruel.

From the van’s backseat, one of the men raised his weapon and fired at Mikha’s motorcycle. The bullet struck its target. The bike swerved violently, throwing Mikha off with terrifying force. She hit the asphalt hard, rolling uncontrollably before coming to a stop.

“Mikha!” Aiah screamed, slamming on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt a safe distance away as panic took over.

Mikha wasn’t moving.

The van skidded to a stop as well, its doors flying open. The men tried to scatter, but Colet was already moving. Her fury burned cold and sharp as she raised her gun.

One shot. A man fell.

Two shots. Another collapsed.

Three shots. The third man dropped to the ground, leaving only one alive.

The last man fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he raised them in surrender.

Aiah and Gwen sprinted to Mikha, their breaths shallow and panicked. They crouched beside her, frantically checking for signs of life. Meanwhile, Sheena and Maloi stayed close to Colet, as though their presence could keep her steady.

Sheena’s voice rang out as she reached the van. “Stacey and Jhoanna—unconscious!” Her hands trembled as she tried to pull them out, her panic making every movement clumsy.

Hearing this, Colet’s anger flared brighter. Her gun remained steady, pointed at the kneeling man. His eyes darted between the girls, fear plastered across his face.

“They’re just asleep!” he blurted, his voice cracking. “I swear, no harm! Just sedated!”

Colet’s jaw tightened. Her finger hovered near the trigger, her rage threatening to consume her entirely.

But then, Maloi stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Love,” she said softly, resting a hand on Colet’s arm. “Tama na. Mas kailangan nila Mikha ngayon atensyon natin.”

Colet’s chest heaved, her breath shaky. Her eyes flicked to Maloi, and slowly, reluctantly, she lowered her gun.

“Mikha,” Aiah’s voice broke through, her tone desperate. Aiah and Gwen were helping Mikha to her feet, her body limp against their shoulders. Mikha’s face was pale, blood trickling from a scrape on her forehead, but her lips curved into a weak smile.

“Colet…” Mikha’s voice was soft but steady, each word deliberate. “We could still use him.”

Colet turned, her body trembling with barely restrained fury. Behind her, Sheena was helping Stacey, who was barely able to stand, while Maloi cradled Jhoanna in her arms. The child’s small face was buried against Maloi’s chest, her breathing slow but steady.

Colet’s legs nearly gave out as the weight of everything crashed down on her. Tears blurred her vision as she looked at her family—alive, but battered and broken. Her anger remained, burning hot in her chest, but exhaustion dulled its edges.

She turned back to the man, her voice trembling as she whispered, “This is for them.”

With that, she kicked him. Once. Twice. Three times. Each strike was fueled by the helplessness and pain she couldn’t contain. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious, and Colet finally stepped back, her breaths ragged.

Her tears spilled freely now, tracing hot paths down her cheeks. She ran a shaky hand through her hair, trying to steady herself.

“Tama na ’to,” she muttered under her breath.

Straightening, Colet turned to the others. Her voice, though hoarse, rang clear. “Uwi na tayo.”

The girls moved without hesitation, obeying. Colet’s words weren’t just an order—they were a promise to bring everyone home.

It wasn’t over—not truly. But for now, they had each other, and that was enough.

Chapter Text

Stacey’s POV:

"I'll help you with your failing subject," Jhoanna said, a playful yet desperate edge to her voice. "As long as you help me with her."

I paused mid-bite, my fork hovering in the air, before setting it down and looking at her with raised eyebrows. “Her?”

She shifted in her seat, suddenly looking more awkward than usual. “Aiah,” she said, rolling her eyes like it should’ve been obvious.

The smirk spread across my face immediately. “You like her?”

“Obviously.”

“Well, careful with that tone,” I said, leaning back in my chair, crossing my arms. “I might just be the key to your little crush. And if that’s the case, you better be careful how you talk to me.”

Her confident demeanor faltered, and she looked apologetic. “Sorry,” she mumbled quickly.

That was better. “Why should I let you, though?” I pressed, tilting my head slightly. “What makes you different from the others, huh? Kasi, let’s face it, Jho—lahat naman ngayon, puta na.”

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought she was going to argue. Instead, she held my gaze, determination flickering in her eyes. “Because I’m not like them,” she said simply.

For the first time, I considered that she might be telling the truth.

“Why do you like her?” I asked, leaning forward and narrowing my eyes, genuinely curious now.

Jhoanna blinked, caught off guard, before looking down at her tray like it held the answer. After a moment, she spoke, “She’s in one of my classes. She was… nice.” Her voice softened, as if the word itself meant more than she could explain.

“Nice?” I repeated, unimpressed.

She nodded, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Yeah. With the little interaction we had, she always was. Like… she didn’t have to be, but she was. To me, at least.”

I tilted my head, still unsure. “That’s it? Just nice?”

She looked up at me, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “As someone as nerdy as me, nobody really likes to be around me. People either ignore me or just put up with me for their own reasons. The only person who’s stuck up with me this long is my dorm mate.”

I didn’t expect her to get so honest, and for a second, I just stared at her, processing. For all the times people came to me talking about Ate Aiah, it was always the same. Compliments about her looks, her vibe, her reputation—everything surface-level. Nobody ever really said anything about her as a person. Until now.

Without realizing it, I nodded. “Hmm. I’ll think about it.”

Jhoanna perked up, her eyes lighting up. “Really?”

I sighed dramatically, rolling my eyes for effect. “Maybe. Don’t get your hopes up too high. But…” I gave her a small, knowing smile. “You might actually be good for her.”

Her face broke into a grin, and for a moment, I almost felt like this wasn’t such a bad idea.

The rooftop of my dorm was quiet except for the faint hum of the city below and the occasional clink of our beer bottles. The cool breeze carried the distant laughter of students celebrating Paskuhan, but up here, it felt like it was just me and Jho, sitting under the soft glow of fairy lights someone had strung up for Christmas.

We were celebrating—a successful Paskuhan event date for her and Ate Aiah, which I had painstakingly helped her plan, and the passing grade I managed to scrape together thanks to her tutoring. Somehow, between the stress and the laughter, I had grown to enjoy having Jho around. In ways I couldn’t fully explain, we had more in common than I’d expected.

That caught me off guard. I raised an eyebrow at her, leaning in a little. “Ha? Bakit ako? Hindi naman ako kasama sa date niyo.”

Jho let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Kasi… the thing is, I don’t think we had anything to talk about.”

My brow furrowed. “Ano’ng ibig mong sabihin? Talkative ka naman ah. You do it so smoothly with me. Ate Aiah’s nice—hindi ka niya mabobore with your books.”

She glanced at me, this time with a small smile that made my chest ache in ways I didn’t understand. “I tried talking about books, but… I came to a realization,” she said softly, her words careful like she was piecing them together in her head. “I actually like talking about the books I read… with you more.”

I blinked, unable to respond as she kept going. “It feels like you understand me better about it,” she added, meeting my eyes.

Her words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, all I could hear was the pounding of my heart. Her smile, the way her eyes glowed under the rooftop lights—it was all so wonderful, so overwhelming.

I forced myself to shake off the feeling, sticking my tongue out at her to break the tension. “Ano ba! Corny mo! Sige nga, ano’ng recent book mo ngayon?”

Her eyes lit up, and she excitedly rummaged through her bag, pulling out a pristine new edition of Percy Jackson. “Look! Bagong edition!” she exclaimed, leaning closer to show me the details on the cover.

As she started rattling on about the book—drunkenly, passionately—I realized something. Somehow, Jho was the only person I was willing to listen to.

And honestly? That terrified me.

I came face-to-face with Aiah, waiting anxiously outside the cafe where I had asked her to meet me. She looked puzzled, tilting her head slightly as she saw me fidgeting with my hands.

“Is everything okay?” Aiah asked as she sat across from me.

I took a deep breath, my palms sweaty, my mind racing. “I… I know you said you don’t like Jho,” I began carefully, avoiding her gaze. “But can you please… not tell her that yet?”

Aiah raised an eyebrow, her expression softening into concern. “Babe, is something wrong?”

I hesitated. The words felt heavy in my throat, but I knew I had to let them out. “I… I’ve been helping her. You know, with her date with you.”

Aiah looked more confused now. “Okay?”

“And in return,” I continued nervously, “she’s been helping me with my subjects. It was just this little deal we had. Something that benefited both of us.”

Aiah folded her arms, waiting for me to continue.

“But…” I paused, biting my lip. “But I think… I messed up. I think I like her.”

Her brow furrowed. “Stacey—”

“Please, just let me finish,” I said quickly, cutting her off before I lost my nerve. “I’m scared. I’m scared that if you reject her outright, if she feels like she doesn’t have a shot with you… she’ll stop wanting to be around me. She’ll stop talking to me. I’ll lose her, Aiah. And I don’t want that. I can’t handle that.”

Aiah leaned back in her chair, watching me closely, but I didn’t stop.

“Jho is… she’s something else,” I admitted, my voice trembling slightly. “I like it whenever she pushes back her big-ass eyeglasses—like she’s annoyed, but it’s also the cutest thing ever. I like those two tiny moles just above her mouth. They’re so small, but I can’t stop staring at them, and I want nothing more than to touch them. But I know those things aren’t for me. They’re for you.”

I felt the lump in my throat growing, but I kept talking. “I like how she never gets tired of explaining things to me, even when I ask the dumbest, most clueless questions. She doesn’t laugh at me—she just… she answers, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And God, the way she talks about books…”

I smiled faintly, my heart aching at the thought. “Her voice changes when she talks about her favorite stories. She lights up, like it’s the only thing that matters in the world at that moment. It’s… intoxicating, Aiah. I’ve never wanted to listen to anyone ramble about something so much in my life.”

My voice cracked slightly as I added, “And I… I love how she never gets tired of me, no matter how annoying I can be. She just stays. And the idea of her not staying, of her being hurt because of this, of her walking away because of me…”

I looked up at Aiah, finally meeting her gaze, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. “I can’t lose her, Aiah. I’m scared to death of losing her.”

It had been months since Aiah finally rejected Jho. She had honored my request to keep quiet about her feelings for as long as she could, but eventually, she couldn’t do it anymore. Aiah said she liked someone else, and as much as it hurt, I understood. I respected it. But after that, things changed between Jho and me.

I started pulling away from her. It wasn’t dramatic at first—just little things. Ignored texts. Missed calls. Excuses when she asked me to hang out, even when it was just for lugaw at our favorite spot. I didn’t know how to face her anymore. She was trying so hard, and I was the one running away. I guess I thought it would hurt less if I made it my choice, if I were the one to leave first.

It was Paskuhan again. The night was alive with music and laughter, but I stayed outside, far from the crowd. The familiar hum of Bawat Piyesa by Munimuni drifted in the air, and I couldn’t help but feel the lyrics settle heavily in my chest. The song felt like it was mocking me, mirroring the ache I was trying so hard to ignore.

I was lost in thought when someone sat beside me. I didn’t look at first, assuming it was a stranger. But then, I caught the scent—familiar and unmistakable. My heart stopped for a second, and I turned my head slightly, confirming it was her. Jho.

Panic flared in my chest, and I was about to stand and leave when she grabbed my arm. “Akala mo ba hindi ko napapansin na nilalayuan mo ko?” she said, her voice trembling, half-frustrated, half-hurt.

I froze, unable to meet her eyes.

“Binitawan lang naman ako ni Ate Aiah, pero nagkaganyan ka na?” she continued, her voice cracking. “May ginawa ba akong masama? May nasabi ba akong mali?”

I stayed silent, my throat dry.

“Dinaig mo pa si Ate Aiah na binasted ako, eh,” she said, forcing a weak laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. Her grip on my arm tightened slightly, her fingers trembling.

I wanted to say something—anything—to make her stop looking at me like that, but the words wouldn’t come out.

"Jho, di mo maiintindihan eh," I said, the words coming out before I could even think them through. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

She looked at me with wide eyes, her face full of concern. "Ano ba yung hindi ko maiintindihan? Edi bat di mo sabihin? Bat hindi mo ipaintindi? Parang wala tayong pinagsamahan." 

I looked away, trying to hide the emotions swirling inside me. "It's not that simple."

Jho leaned in a little closer, her eyes searching mine. "Seryoso ka, Stacey? I’ve been trying to understand. I just wish you’d tell me."

"Jho, gusto kita." I said the words, unable to look at her, my heart heavy with doubt. "There was a time na sana ako na lang naging kaklase mo, hindi si Ate Aiah kasi baka ako pa yun una mong nagustuhan, kaso hindi eh. I figured na pagkatapos niyo ni Ate Aiah, ayaw mo na ako kausapin kasi wala naman na ako silbi, kaya ako na yun nauna—"

I didn’t finish because she reached out and touched my face, gently guiding it to face her. That’s when I saw the flower in her hand.

"Sorry, ito lang nakayananan ko, wala pa ako budget," she said, her voice soft with an apologetic smile.

I couldn’t help but stare at it, confused. "What does this mean?" I asked, unsure of where this was going.

Jho laughed softly at my confused look."Manahimik ka na, I like you too. I thought it was obvious when I told you that me and Aiah have nothing to talk about, we're better off as friends."

Her voice grew quieter, but more sincere. “And there’s actually someone I think I’m not better off as friends with, and I think it’s the person I’m going to hold the hand now.”

Slowly, she tangled our hands together, the soft melody of Bawat Piyesa playing in the background. For a moment, I just stood there, frozen.

When she noticed tears brimming in my eyes, she wiped them away tenderly, a soft smile forming on her lips. “Tusok tusok?”

I woke up with a start, the sound of a flash startling me out of my dream. For a split second, I thought I was in a warehouse—tied up, unable to escape. But when my eyes adjusted, I realized I wasn’t there. I was back in the dorm, sleeping in Jho's bed.

I blinked, confused, and then the memory of the girls saving us flooded back. The flash came again, pulling me back to the present. I turned my head, and there she was—Jho, holding Mikha's iPad, looking shy, like a child caught in the act.

"Hey, love, what are you doing?" I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

She didn’t respond immediately, just holding the device a little closer to her chest. Curious, I reached for it, trying to peek at the screen. What I saw shocked me.

She’d been taking pictures of me while I was sleeping. I couldn’t believe it. There were so many of them—me lying there, oblivious to her camera, looking a mess in every single one. I carefully grabbed the iPad from her hands and scrolled through the gallery, feeling a mix of disbelief and confusion.

But as I swiped, I saw it. Every picture was the same. Me, asleep, in all kinds of positions. But what really hit me was the memory of Jho’s voice, the words she’d said to me not too long ago. "I like it whenever you sleep, you always look pretty, but you always look best sleeping especially when you're just right beside me."

I looked up at her, and my heart softened. She was still so shy, her cheeks flushed, but she looked so innocent, holding the iPad like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"You want to sleep beside me?" I asked quietly, my voice softer now.

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the bed as if unsure. Without a word, she snuggled in beside me, curling up against my side. I closed my eyes again, my body instinctively relaxing as she pressed closer, her warmth wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.

And there, with her beside me, I finally drifted back to sleep, the world outside fading away.

Chapter Text

Aiah’s POV: 

The house was silent, except for the occasional creak of the old floorboards beneath my feet. It was past 1 a.m., and everyone else had already surrendered to sleep. I slipped into Sheena and Jho’s room to check on them, and the sight brought an unexpected sense of calm.

Sheena was curled up in her bed, her breathing steady and soft. Maloi was sprawled on the makeshift mattress on the floor. The chaos from earlier felt so far away, but the faint shadow of it lingered in the room, heavy and unspoken.

Colet and Gwen were still out, dragging the man to Colet’s massive house. Mikha and I had made it clear—no more violence. Colet had already gone too far. Even if she wouldn’t admit it, I knew the guilt was starting to creep in. She wasn’t as invincible as she pretended to be.

My eyes landed on Jho and Stacey next. Jho was lying beside Stacey, closer than I’d ever seen her before. The sight made something twist inside me—relief, maybe, or hope. Jho had finally let Stacey in, but it felt fragile, like it could shatter if the world wasn’t careful. And the world, I’d learned, was rarely careful.

I sat back down beside Mikha, her eyes closed but clearly not asleep. I continued tending to her wounds, the tension still heavy between us. Every time I dabbed at the scar on her forehead, I felt my chest tighten. We’d begged her to go to the hospital, but Mikha, being as stubborn as ever, had refused.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes opened slowly, meeting mine. “It was for them,” she said quietly, then paused before adding, “It was for you guys.”

The silence between us stretched until she said something else—something softer. “It was for you.”

Her words caught me off guard, and I fumbled with the bandages. My heart did this stupid, traitorous skip, and I felt my face heat up. I didn’t know how to respond, so I just said the first thing that came to mind.

“I didn’t know you knew how to use guns,” I said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She laughed, wincing slightly. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

"Can I find out more about it now?" I asked, leaning in with curiosity.

Mikha’s jaw tightened as she began to speak. "Colet and I know how to handle guns because our dads made sure of it. They used to bring us to shooting ranges as kids. You know we’ve known each other since we were little, right?"

“Wait, what? Your dad and Colet’s dad were friends?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mikha nodded but quickly added, “Yeah, but let’s get one thing straight—my dad was nothing like hers. I remember Colet showing up bruised sometimes, and Dad always tried to step in. I even did too, when I could. But her dad…” She paused, her voice hardening. She trailed off, shaking her head. “He was the mayor of Manila back then. Powerful. Untouchable. My family had money, sure, but we weren’t in politics. And definitely not dirty ones.”

"I knew Colet didn’t like her dad," I started, my voice low as the memory of earlier flashed in my mind, "but I thought it was just because of his work as a politician. I didn’t realize… there’s more to it."

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way she fought, the way she lost herself in the violence—it scared me. I worried that, after today, she might start seeing herself as someone like her father. But she wasn’t. She isn’t.

Shaking the thought away, I turned to Mikha. I needed to focus on her now. "Are you okay?” I asked, my voice softer this time. “You killed two people."

Mikha opened her eyes, meeting mine. Her gaze was steady, but I could see the weight she was carrying. “It had to be done,” she said simply, her tone even.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful she looked even now, bruised and worn, as though nothing could dim her light.

“On the other side,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper, “you did look cool.”

Cool wasn’t even the right word. She was breathtaking. The way she handled herself—the motorcycle, the shots—it was like watching a scene out of a movie. And, god, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Part of me even wondered, selfishly, what it would’ve been like if it were me she was saving. Would she still look that… incredible?

Mikha raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a grin. “Baka nga naging crush mo pa ako, eh.”

I almost choked. Oh, Mikha, if only you knew.

I carefully smoothed the band-aid over her forehead, stepping back to admire my work. “There,” I said softly, straightening up. “Now, you need to rest. We’ve been through too much, and tomorrow will be just as heavy. Don’t even think about going to school.”

As I turned to leave, her hand found my wrist, stopping me. Her voice was barely audible. “Can you stay here? Right beside me?”

I turned, surprised. “Why?”

Her eyes met mine, unguarded and honest. “It still hurts,” she admitted.

I opened my mouth, ready to tell her it would get better, but she spoke again, her voice softer this time. “I need you.”

My heart twisted. Without a word, I sat back down beside her, letting her guide me as we laid down together on the sofa. Her arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, as though letting me go wasn’t an option.

Our eyes lingered on each other, the air between us thick with unsaid things. I could feel it again—that unspoken plea for everything we had denied ourselves. My Mikha. Please, let this happen.

We kissed. Slowly, tenderly, as if trying to memorize the feel of each other. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was years of yearning, finally given room to breathe.

When we broke apart, our foreheads pressed together, I could feel her breath on my lips. The song—it was being rewritten, each note more vivid than the last. Would the writer let the melody finally play out?

Mikha turned to me, her voice low but steady. “Aiah… I can’t do it now. I just can’t. But I want you to know—I feel the same. I don’t want to use the stronger word for ‘like,’ not yet. Not because it’s not true, but because you deserve more. Something planned. Something right, when I finally say those words. But believe me—I feel the same. I always have.”

She paused, her eyes softening. “When I rolled down that road earlier, all I could think about was you. How I never told you. How I didn’t want to leave this world without letting you know how I feel.”

A small, bittersweet smile crept onto my face. Finally, the writer had let its song out.

“It’s okay, Mikhs,” I said, my voice quiet but sure. “It’s okay. I’ve waited almost my entire life for you. Waiting a little longer is nothing. I feel the same, too. I always have, from the moment I saw you.” 

Her lips twitched into the tiniest smile, and it was like the weight of the day lifted. We settled back into the sofa, the exhaustion finally catching up with us. As her arms wrapped around me, the world fell away, and sleep gently pulled us under, our hearts finally at peace.

Chapter Text

Maloi's POV:

None of us felt like going to classes that day. Everything that had happened yesterday was too heavy—too much to process. Sheena was the only one who had to go to school, though. It was her first day back since she’d been expelled. We didn’t actually want her to go. I know it’s hard for her too, but then, she said something about not wanting to waste the talk Colet had with the father she hated the most. It was the least she could do. At least we could look after Jhoanna since we weren’t leaving the dorm.

Aiah and I didn’t talk about it earlier that morning, but it was unspoken—we both woke up, despite not having enough sleep, to prepare Sheena’s things. Her bag was a mess; she obviously hadn’t gotten the chance to pack it. We also made breakfast for her—something simple but warm. I know why we did it, without a doubt. 

We still feel like we failed Sheena. Both of us. And now, in this quiet, wordless way, we were trying to make up for it. Trying to piece together something we lost.

We were all sitting at the table now, quietly eating as we waited for Gwen and Colet to come back. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was expectant, like we were all holding our breath for whatever was coming next. Still, something about this morning felt... different.

I couldn’t help but notice how things had shifted. Stacey and Jhoanna, for one. Stacey was gently trying to get Jhoanna to eat, but Jhoanna was too preoccupied, her face buried in Stacey’s chest. I almost laughed at how patient Stacey was being, but it was nice to see them getting along like this.

And then there was Mikha and Aiah. They sat close—closer than usual—and I caught the faintest glimpse of their hands intertwined beneath the table. I raised an eyebrow at Aiah when she noticed me looking, flashing her a teasing smile. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to.

For once, Ate Aiah looked... free. Like she finally let go of the fear she carried for so long.

We were eating in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need words, when Gwen and Colet walked in. Gwen’s face was impossible to read, her cold demeanor giving nothing away about whether their mission was a success—at least, not without violence. Colet, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Her face was a canvas of emotions, each one vivid and alive.

That’s what I loved about her—my Colet. She’s like an open book, her emotions raw and real in a way most people can’t handle. When she’s angry, some people might cower, but not me. I find it beautiful—the way her cheeks puff out, the way her brows knit together. It’s in those moments that she’s the most alive, the most herself.

And now, as she stood there in the doorway, sunlight pouring in behind her, she looked like the most radiant thing I’d ever seen.

Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw the softer side of her, the one I loved so much. Even in her tired state, she managed to show me a glimpse of happiness. But the second I asked, "What happened?" the softness disappeared.

Her features hardened, and a familiar wall went up. Gwen stayed silent, scanning the room with focused intensity. She was looking for Sheena, and I knew it. Colet started to speak, but I cut her off, my voice firm.

"Pumasok siya," I said. Gwen nodded at me, her expression unreadable, before shifting her attention elsewhere.

Then Colet exploded, her voice sharp and biting. "Wala. Putangina. Wala kaming nakuha. Wala daw siya alam. Sabi ko sa inyo, saktan lang natin kahit konti—"

Mikha stepped in, her voice steady but forceful. "Colet, enough. Stop pretending. I know you. What you did yesterday is already tearing you apart. If you do more, if you hurt him, it’s going to break you completely."

Colet rounded on her, her voice a mix of anger and pain. "Wala akong paki! Mukha bang may paki ako? Patayin na ako ng konsensya ko! Wag lang ulit mangyari yung nangyari kahapon!"

The room went silent, the weight of her words pressing down on all of us. None of us could deny the truth in what she said—or the cost of what had happened.

Aiah clapped her hands together, cutting through the thick silence. "Umupo muna kayo, kumain muna tayo. Pag-usapan natin 'to ng maayos, okay? Walang sigawan." Her tone was lighter, but there was no mistaking the authority in her words. It was classic Ate mode, pulling everyone back from the brink.

Colet and Gwen exchanged a look before finally sitting down, the tension between them easing ever so slightly. Across the table, Jhoanna’s face lit up at the sight of the two. She climbed off Stacey’s lap and ran over to Colet, throwing her small arms around her. The warmth of the moment seemed to chip away at Colet’s anger, and even Gwen relaxed a little.

Under the table, I reached for Colet’s hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to say I’m here with you. She gave a slight squeeze in return, and for the first time since they entered, I saw her shoulders relax.

I took the lead, my voice firm. “Kung wala siyang alam, wala tayong magagawa. Ano ginawa niyo doon sa lalaki?”

Colet let out a bitter laugh. “Beat him into a pulp before we surrendered him to the poli—”

“Nothing like that happened,” Gwen snapped, cutting her off. Her tone was sharp and controlled. “I was able to restrain her. Pero binigay naman namin siya sa police.”

Colet huffed like a child whose candy was snatched away, crossing her arms. Mikha, ever the curious one, chimed in. “Hindi sila nagtanong?”

Colet shrugged, her voice flat. “I let father handle it. I don’t care what he does or says.”

Aiah’s brow furrowed as she asked cautiously, “He didn’t question you?”

Colet’s gaze turned cold, and her words came out clipped. “I can drag a dead body, and he wouldn’t care. He does the same anyway.”

Her words sent a shiver through the room. The message was clear, and the implications were disturbing. No one knew what to say, so we let the silence settle over us like a heavy blanket.

Gwen’s voice carried a weight of urgency as she began. “We need to know why they wanted Jhoanna. There’s a reason for this. And we need to figure it out fast.” Her gaze shifted to Stacey, her tone soft but firm. “I know this might be painful to recall, but… did you hear anything? Anything at all that could explain what they wanted with her?”

Stacey nodded slowly, her expression serious. “It’s okay. I’ll tell you what I remember.” She paused, organizing her thoughts. “I think… I was knocked out for most of it, but I was in and out. From what I heard, they weren’t even planning to take me. But when they saw me with Jho, they said it’d be better if they brought back two people instead of one.”

Her voice dropped as she added, “Narinig ko yung sinasabi nila kay Jho. Na makakabalik na daw siya. Na hinahanap na daw siya.”

The room was silent as Stacey finished, her words sparking a mix of confusion and dread. Gwen’s brow furrowed, deep in thought, as she began to analyze the possibilities.

Colet’s fist crashed against the table, making everyone jump. Even Jho, startled by the noise, froze. Her face neared tears. Colet quickly softened, her hand reaching out to comfort Jho, her thumb brushing away the small tears that managed to escape. As Jho’s sobs quieted, Colet sighed heavily, her frustration evident but mixed with concern.

She looked around, meeting everyone’s gaze, her voice low but intense. “They have to go through me first. But if that’s what they’re saying… doesn’t that mean the person who took Jho might already know her?”

Mikha’s voice was steady, but her eyes held doubt. “I think that’s the case, too. But then again, the person we’re suspecting is a scientist—someone who doesn’t seem to have any connection to Jho. If she does know a scientist, why would Jho know a scientist at all?”

Gwen, who had been silently observing the conversation, stood up with newfound determination. “Exactly,” she said, her voice sharp and focused. She walked over to Sheena’s board with a sense of purpose. She added new details—about the kidnappings, the suspicions, everything that had been discussed so far.

Gwen wasn’t the kind of person to fuss over details, especially when it came to setting up things on the board. She had a sharp mind and didn’t need to write things down; no doubt, she was right up there with Colet in terms of intellect. But the difference between them was clear—Gwen took everything seriously, while Colet had a more laid-back approach to her brilliance.

But now, as Gwen stood there, adding pieces of the puzzle to Sheena’s board, I couldn’t help but think that maybe this was more than just about organizing the facts. Gwen must have known that Sheena would appreciate us using her board, showing that we respected the work she’d put into it. It was a small thing, but it made me realize how much thought Gwen was putting into this.

Gwen glanced around the room, her eyes tired but still sharp. "For now, that's all we have. I have to go back to my dorm. I need sleep. Everyone does. So, please. Rest."

The room felt calmer after she left, the weight of the events still hanging in the air. The morning passed in a quiet sort of peace. Mikha, Aiah, and Stacey stayed in the living room with Jho, trying to distract her with playful games while Colet and I were alone in the room. We could hear the laughter and teasing from the other room—something about us being careful not to get the sheets dirty or wet. A small smirk tugged at my lips. It was a weird feeling, to be caught between a moment of peace and the tension of everything that had happened. But for now, it was enough.

Colet and I were wrapped up in each other, tangled in the softness of the sheets, but there was something tender about it. Colet lay against me like a child, her face tucked into my chest, her breath soft against my skin. My chin rested on the top of her head, my hand moving in slow, calming strokes across her back. She was safe here, with me, and I could feel her vulnerability in every breath.

I knew her better than anyone—knew that in moments like this, she needed me to say the words.

I whispered softly, "You can cry now."

The floodgates opened immediately. Colet’s sobs filled the space between us, raw and painful. She clung to me as if I was the only thing holding her together.

"I'm so sorry, I was mad, I was mad yesterday, seeing Jho and Stacey unconscious, seeing Mikha roll like that. I couldn't. I can't. I can't risk losing anyone. But all I can see is how similar I am to my father. Pareho ba kami, Maloi? Pareho ba kami?"

I carefully adjusted Colet in my arms, her face still wet with tears, but I could feel her beginning to relax as I spoke softly.

“What happened yesterday, kinailangan yun mangyari. Kung hindi mo ginawa yun, hindi niyo ginawa ni Mikha yung pagbaril, baka mas malaking problema kinakaharap natin ngayon kasi baka nakuha na talaga nila si Stacey.”

I could hear her silent cries, but I needed her to hear the truth.

“Love, you are nothing like your father. You never were, you never will be. You are everything he wasn’t. You’re a better person. You’ve always been.”

I couldn’t help but ask the question that haunted me, "Did he hurt you when you went back there?" She shook her head gently, and I felt a weight lift off my chest. “Gwen had been there, and despite everything, father was still bound by the need to protect his public image.”

I lifted her face, fragile like glass, and couldn’t understand how anyone could ever hurt someone with a face like hers. I wanted to show her that she deserved softness, not violence. Slowly, I leaned in, and we shared a kiss—gentle, tender, and sweet. Colet responded quickly, pressing herself closer, and my hand tangled in her hair, pulling her in.

But before it went any further, the door burst open. "Ate Maloi, Ate Colet!" Sheena’s voice rang out, and I quickly pulled away, accidentally sending Colet tumbling to the floor. Without skipping a beat, Colet jumped up, pretending she was doing push-ups, counting loudly. The others peeked from behind the door, intrigued by the noise. Then, Colet stood up, threw her hands in the air like she'd just finished a workout, and let out a triumphant “Woo!” We both stared at each other, trying not to laugh, and although it was embarrassing, it felt perfect being with her.

Chapter Text

Colet’s POV: 

When I woke, the room was drenched in the soft glow of the setting sun. It was 6 in the evening, and the orange light spilled through the window, painting everything in warmth. I’d never liked orange, but this shade—gentle, fleeting—reminded me of Maloi. She lay beside me, her features softened by the light, like a portrait in a frame. Not wanting to wake her, even though she looked so beautiful, under this color, I carefully grabbed a pillow to shield her from the sunlight and set it at her back. 

That’s when I noticed Jho on the floor, sitting cross-legged with some random box in her hands. Sheena was nearby, snoring softly, her head leaning awkwardly to the side. I stifled a laugh—what a scene to wake up to.

I got out of bed and quietly walked over to her. She was so engrossed in her little box of treasures that she didn’t even notice me approaching. I knelt down beside her, leveling with her tiny frame, and that’s when I saw it—pictures, notes, and small trinkets scattered inside. My curiosity grew as I noticed something familiar, our names and faces, written and printed on the items.

Jho finally noticed me, her face lighting up. She plucked a picture from the pile—a photo of just the two of us—and held it up next to my face. "It’s you!" she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as if she’d just uncovered the greatest mystery. I couldn’t help but laugh and nod, teasing her with, "Yes, that’s me, baby. Ganda ko, ’no?"

She nodded enthusiastically, still clutching the picture like it was her greatest discovery. Then, with a curious tilt of her head, she pointed to another face—an older version of herself. "Sino ’to, Ate?" she asked, her small voice filled with curiosity.

"Si Ate Jhoanna," I said softly, the words coming out like a bittersweet truth.

She furrowed her brow and asked the question that broke my heart just a little, "Bakit hindi ko siya nakikita?"

"Umalis kasi siya eh. Pero babalik yun," I told her, smiling softly, masking the lump in my throat. I blinked back the tears threatening to fall. Jhoanna’s coming back... right? I kept telling myself that, clinging to the hope. As much as I adored this younger, carefree version of her, I couldn’t help but ache for the older Jhoanna—the one I first met, the one whose absence left a hole in my chest.

"Ang tagal naman niya bumalik, ate," she said with a slight pout. Then she added innocently, "Kung ako yan, hindi ko kaya umalis ng matagal."

I raised a brow, curious. "Bakit naman hindi mo kakayanan?"

Her face lit up with pure joy as she answered, "Kasi dito, masaya ako! May toys ako! May Jollibee ako lagi! May iPad ako! Masaya ako pag kasama kayo lagi, ate!"

Her words filled the room with a warmth I didn’t realize I needed. I was just about to say something when Aiah called out from the living room, "Tintin, dito ka muna! Natutulog sila dyan. Let’s watch a movie with Ate Mikha and Ate Stacey.”

With that, Jho sprang up with excitement and ran off, leaving me there with her words echoing in my heart.

I glanced around the room and realized I was left with two sleeping people, Maloi, looking like an angel on the bed, and Sheena, who somehow managed to fall asleep awkwardly on Jho’s bed. She must’ve crawled there at some point, but the way her limbs were sprawled made me want to laugh. I held it in, though, my attention shifting to the box Jho had been playing with before.

I knelt down and started sifting through it, curious. Inside was a mix of notes, photos, and trinkets, each one brimming with memories. My fingers brushed against a piece of paper, and I picked it up. The handwriting was unmistakable—it was Jhoanna’s.

"Bakit kaya ako nilalayuan ni Staku? Ayaw na ba niya sa akin? Kung kailan naman siya na gusto ko at hindi na si Ate Aiah." 

There was even a sad face doodled at the bottom, as if the drama wasn’t already obvious. I laughed quietly, shaking my head. Everyone in this house knew exactly what moment this was about—how those two finally ended up together. Classic Jhoanna. The awkward, messy beginning of a love that was so perfectly them.

I shifted through more of her things, pausing when I pulled out a photograph. It was a picture of Jhoanna and Sheena in the living room, surrounded by a makeshift tent adorned with fairy lights. There was a cake in the center of the frame, with the words "Happy Birthday, Sheena" written on it.

This must’ve been before we knew each other, a glimpse into their lives before I became part of it. I turned the photo over, and the words scribbled on the back made my chest ache:

"Sheena, simula nung nag-hiwalay kayo ni Gwen, hindi ka na ngumingiti ng ganito. Pati ako hindi mo na pinapansin. May nagawa ba si Ate? Iniintindi kita, pero masakit sa akin na tinataboy mo ko."

The rawness of it struck me. This wasn’t just a note—it was a confession of pain, frustration, and love. Jhoanna had been hurting in ways she hadn’t shown. It was a reminder of how much people carry quietly, even while trying to be strong for others.

Deeper into the box, I uncovered another photo. It was one I hadn’t thought about in a while: the day I brought Maloi to meet everyone. I still remember how my heart had raced, introducing her, wanting everything to go smoothly. The café had been full of laughter that day, but looking at this picture now, I felt a wave of emotions I hadn’t expected.

Attached to the bottom of the picture was a small sticky note, Jhoanna’s handwriting scrawled across it:

"Si Anger may gf na. Sana hindi lagi nakabusangot si Ate Colet. Si Sheena kasi eh, lagi siya binibwisit, ako tuloy pinagtritripan pag galit siya. Pero ngayon may gf na siya. Ganda ni Ate Maloi. Ate Maloi, kahit minsan bad si Ate Colet, sana tulad ng pag-aalaga at pagmamahal ko sa kanya, mabigay mo. Gusto ko higitan mo pa ako."

Her words brought a lump to my throat. Jhoanna had always been protective of me, even when she was teasing or making jokes. The depth of her care, her hope that I would be loved the way I deserved to be—it was all here in these words. It made me miss her even more, her warmth, her humor, her heart.

I felt the tears coming, unstoppable now. I knew Jho; I knew how deeply she loved us. But seeing her love written in these words made it hit differently. Why her? Why did she have to be the one who suffered? Why was she the one taken from us, only to come back like this—so much of herself stolen away?

As I tried to steady myself, my eyes landed on another note. This one made me smile through the tears:

"Pinasakay ako ni Ate Mikha sa malaking motor niya ngayon araw! Nagagalit nga si Ate Aiah, baka daw mahulog ako kasi makulit ako. Pero syempre, dahil pareho kaming pogi ni Ate Mikha, pinilit pa rin niya ako sumakay. Akala ko nga hindi niya ako pagbibigyan kasi halata naman na crush niya si Ate Aiah, kahit ano sabihin nun, parang asong ulol na si Ate Mikha eh."

It was so her . Even in a single scribbled note, she captured the essence of that moment. The laughter, the teasing, the love—it was all there. and it was beautiful.

I was about to pick up the picture Jho had shown me earlier when something else caught my eye—an envelope. My name was written in large, bold letters on the back, the marker almost aggressively marking the paper. With shaking hands, I opened it slowly, almost afraid of what I might find.

Inside were notes, newspaper clippings—articles about my father, his hidden crimes, things I had never dared to imagine. How had Jho gotten all of this? My hands were shaking as I slipped through the papers, each one confirming the darkness of my father's actions. And then, I found it. A photo of me, and behind it, a note:

"Ate Colet, I hope you can hold on just a little longer. I hope you still have the patience and time to wait for me. One day, you’ll be free of him, and I’ll make sure of that. I’ll make sure he pays for everything he’s done to you. Wait for me to graduate, ate."

Tears spilled down my face. How could Jho have done all of this? How could she have risked everything, even her own safety, just to protect me? She was willing to fight for me, even if it meant hurting herself in the process. Jho… no matter how many lifetimes I had, even if I lived each one of them loving you so much, I could never deserve you. We could never deserve you.

The picture pressed against my chest, and the tears came. It felt like they’d never stop, but as the minutes ticked by, I wiped my face and found a quiet strength within. I didn’t know where it came from, but I felt it. With strength, I carefully packed Jho’s things away and stepped out, telling the others I’d be back soon.

When I arrived home—could I even call it that anymore?—I moved quickly, not wanting to linger in this place any longer. But of course, he caught me. My father’s voice rang out from the living room, gruff and commanding. He ordered me to come to him. I didn’t want to, but I knew better than to refuse.

His slap came faster than I expected, and then another, and another. It wasn’t about the pain anymore, though. It was about what it represented—the control, the power he had over me. After the third, he casually sat down at the dinner table.

“I haven’t done that for a long time, daughter. You kept requesting things. It was just the right payment. Go on now.”

I nodded, my body heavy but not broken. I was used to this. I turned and made my way upstairs, already preparing myself for whatever came next. I wasn’t going to let him break me anymore.

I threw the door shut behind me and practically ran to my computer. My heart raced, my thoughts scattered, but I knew I couldn’t waste any more time. The dark web—why hadn’t I thought of this earlier? It was dangerous, but I couldn’t stop now. Not when Jho had already risked everything, not when she was braver than I could ever be.

I hesitated before diving in, my mind racing with the implications. But I couldn’t back out now. Not when I was so close. The hours passed like a blur, and with every second, I sacrificed more of myself—my information, my money—all in the name of finding answers.

And then, at last, I found it—the name that could lead me to her captor. It was worth everything. For Jho.

I closed my computer, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. For a moment, everything felt still, and I tried to relax. Then, my phone buzzed. Probably one of the girls. But when I checked, my heart skipped.

An email—nothing else. Four simple words. "I see you, cutie."

Chills crawled up my spine, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand. I froze, staring at my screen. Something wasn’t right. I lifted my head slowly, and then my blood ran cold.

The camera on my computer was lit up. It was supposed to be shut off. I hadn’t touched it, but there it was, a glaring green light that told me everything I needed to know. Someone was watching me.

Chapter Text

GWEN 

I told the girls I needed to go home to sleep, but that was a lie. I didn’t go home, and I didn’t sleep. I don’t think I deserve that kind of peace right now—not with everything that’s happened.

Instead, I went straight to the school’s lab. All day, I stayed there, doing what I do best: analyzing, experimenting, hoping. The hum of machines and the scratch of my pen filled the silence, but my mind screamed louder with every passing hour.

I’m the one with a science major. I’m the one who’s supposed to know how to fix things. So why do I feel so helpless? So useless?

I just want Jhoanna back.

The day in the lab was a waste. I didn’t make any progress, no miraculous discovery, nothing to bring the girls even a sliver of hope. I wanted so badly to help, but it felt like the more I tried, the further the answers slipped from my grasp.

And while I was there, in that sterile, empty lab, my mind kept drifting. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about all the time I used to spend with her. 

How much time had I spent here before, with her voice in the background? How many moments had I taken for granted?

Now, there was no one to talk to. No noise. Just silence. 

No sound from her.

And for the first time, I realized how much I missed the chaos she brought into my life.  I wished for her chaos, her energy—anything to pull me out of this emptiness. 

Is this what loneliness truly looks like?

I returned to the dorm because I couldn’t take it anymore—I just wanted to see her, hear her voice, feel her presence. I sat at the table, picking at what was left of dinner. The girls had finished eating and were now in the living room, their voices overlapping as they laughed and watched Inside Out .

“Uy, si Ate Colet!” Sheena exclaimed, pointing at the fiery red character on the screen. Her playful tone made me smile, something I hadn’t done all day. This was what I missed—her jokes, her laughter, the way she lit up the room without even trying.

But then the door opened. Colet walked in.

She didn’t say anything at first, but her silence felt sharp, cutting through the laughter. Instead, she stood still, her face unreadable. And then she said it.

“I have the name.”

The room fell silent. All the warmth drained out as her words sank in.

She didn’t spell it out for us, but we all understood. The silence that followed felt thick and suffocating.

Mikha was the first to rise, her movements quick and full of purpose. “Who is it?” she demanded, her voice trembling—not with fear, but with fury.

Mikha, the one who had always been steady, who balanced Colet’s storms with her calm, was different now. She wasn’t calm anymore. She wasn’t even a storm. She was the aftermath of one—a thunderstorm that had torn everything apart, an earthquake that left cracks in places we didn’t even know existed.

Her fists were clenched, her breathing heavy, and her eyes blazed with a mix of anger and desperation. She looked at Colet like she could force the answers out of her, like knowing would finally bring an end to all of this chaos.

“Nerius Valtieri.”

I recognized the name instantly. Colet looked at me, waiting for confirmation.

“Yes. I know him.” My voice was steady, but inside, a sinking feeling took hold. “He was a scientist. He escaped just last month, the one I’m talking about.”

I turned back to Colet, unease settling in my stomach. How did she get this information? Even I—someone deeply involved in this—never found anything beyond rumors. But if she had his name, then this wasn’t a rumor. It was a fact.

The others stared, their faces tense. I took a deep breath and continued, “He was sentenced to life. He was the first to discover a way to cheat death. This sounds crazy, but he’s immortal. But his method… it wasn’t natural. He took young people, used their bodies to keep himself alive. He operated on them—taking hands, feet, any part of their bodies—and attaching them to his own.” My voice wavered. “And he drank something—an elixir he once called ‘Shimmer.’”

I added, “But I don’t get it. He’s doing something different now. He’s making people younger instead.”

Stacey spoke up, her voice sharp. “But what does this have to do with Jhoanna? The men who took us… the things they said… it was like this scientist knew her personally. Are we even sure he’s still active? Maybe he just ran and disappeared.”

Colet shook her head.

She pulled something from her pocket and let it fall onto the table—a USB drive.

“He’s active,” she said. “This is proof. A video of the students he took. And the process.”

A pause.

“I don’t recommend watching it.”

Her voice wavered. Then, without warning, her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor.

“This is what they did to Jho…” she whispered.

The room was deathly silent.

The room was suffocating. I wanted to ask her how she had found this, if it was from her father, but something about the way she curled into herself, the way her tears fell freely, told me that whatever she had seen… she couldn’t unsee it.

Maloi took a step forward, reaching for Colet, wanting to comfort her. But before she could, Jhoanna beat her to it.

Maloi froze in place, her breath catching at the sight in front of her.

Jho’s tiny hands reached up, cupping Colet’s face. She wasn’t wiping away Colet’s tears—no, she was tracing something. A shape. A small, shaky smiley face on Colet’s lips, as if trying to remind her how to smile.

Colet winced, and that’s when I noticed the dark bruise visible in her cheek. But despite the pain, she still forced a smile for Jho.

“Ate, cry ka?” Jho asked, tilting her head innocently.

Colet inhaled sharply, her fingers gripping the floor like she needed to hold onto something—anything—to keep from breaking completely. Her voice trembled as she spoke.

“Gagawin ko lahat para sa’yo, Jho. Sana alam mo ‘yun,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Gagawin ni Ate lahat. Bumalik ka na, bumalik ka na. Hindi na ako magagalit sa’yo. Hindi na kita aasarin na mabaho hininga mo…” Her voice cracked. “Basta bumalik ka na, Jho. Andito na kami.”

Jho was right in front of us, yet we all knew what Colet meant. She wanted her Jho back.

The real Jho.

The silence in the room was suffocating, until—

A loud sound.

Mikha had punched the wall, her body shaking with fury. Aiah immediately rushed to her, trying to calm her down, but Mikha barely moved. Her voice was low, dangerous.

“Fuck everything,” she whispered.

After a while, Colet finally mustered the strength to stand. Maloi was by her side, guiding her into the room gently, with little Jho trailing behind, her steps tiny but determined. Stacey was still, almost mechanical in her movements, the silence around her loud in the absence of any words. Mikha and Aiah had left, Mikha needing a moment to breathe, to let the heavy air between them settle before it broke apart further.

We had to make a plan—anything, really. But this… this felt like too much for any of us to handle right now. We were all holding on by the thinnest of threads.

My eyes found Sheena then. She was still sitting on the floor, eyes glued to the TV, watching her favorite show, Powerpuff Girls . That was when it hit me—she wasn’t okay. She always turned to that cartoon when things felt too heavy, when she needed to distract herself. She was hiding behind the laughter and colors, but her eyes were empty, distant. She was breaking too, just like the rest of us.

I stood up, about to leave her space, knowing I couldn’t impose, but as I turned to head out, her voice stopped me.

“Stay here,” Sheena said, her tone quieter than usual, but somehow more knowing. “I know you didn’t sleep.”

I froze for a moment, my heart skipping. She’d noticed. How could she have noticed? I quickly masked my surprise, pushing it aside.

“Where will I sleep?” I asked, a nervous chuckle escaping me. “The girls are already occupying almost every inch of this house.”

Sheena didn’t look away from the screen, but there was a slight twitch in her expression. A flicker of something—maybe vulnerability, maybe the weight of everything finally catching up to her.

"My bed, Gwen," Sheena said, her voice a bit quieter now. "Sanay ka naman na doon. Lagi ka naman namamahay pag hindi mo bahay. Sanay ka na doon sa kama ko, doon ka na."

Her words lingered in the air. I wanted to correct her, to tell her that it wasn’t the bed that made me sleep comfortably, it was the fact that she was beside me. But I didn’t say anything. I just nodded, hoping that silently, she’d understand—that she’d choose to lie beside me like she always did.

Morning came, and the house was unusually quiet. I managed to get some sleep, but my mind wouldn’t let go of the suspicion that had been gnawing at me all night. After breakfast, I made up my mind—I needed to talk to Colet.

I asked her to meet me outside, away from the house, and when I was far enough, I lit a cigarette. The smoke curled up into the cool morning air, a moment of solitude before the conversation. Just as I exhaled, Colet walked up to me. I offered her a cigarette, expecting her to decline, but she surprised me by taking one for herself.

I took a long drag, the silence between us thick with unspoken things, and then I finally asked, "What happened to your cheek? Was it him again?"

She nodded, her eyes downcast, but she didn’t say anything right away.

I sighed, looking at her carefully. "You should’ve let me come with you. Last time, nothing happened because I was there."

"You back at smoking again?" she asked softly, as if it was a casual observation.

I let out a quiet breath, a hint of regret in my voice. "Yeah. After Sheena and I broke up, I started again." I shifted, eyes on the ground for a moment before asking, "What about you?"

She hesitated. "Just now, for the first time in a while," she admitted, her voice almost like she was talking to herself.

I sighed, trying to steady myself. I had to know. "Did he give you the information? Is that why he slapped you? Because you gave him what he wanted?"

She nodded again, but this time, my frustration boiled over. I threw the cigarette to the ground, the sound of it smoldering almost drowned out by my rising anger. I turned to face her, my voice sharp as I said, "Bullshit."

She flinched at my tone, but before she could respond, I stepped up to her, grabbed her collar, and pulled her closer. "What did you do, Colet? What the hell did you do to get that? Your father may be the highest man in the world, but that information, even that video—there’s no way he could’ve touched it. Tell me the truth."

I let go of her, noticing the fear in her eyes. Colet had never been afraid—except when it came to her father. My actions, gripping her collar, had brought that fear back. I had reminded her of that fear, and now I could feel it too. I had just reminded her of everything she hated.

I backed up, my tone sharp, "Please, tell me you didn’t do something stupid."

Her answer was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, Gwen. I was desperate. I got it from the dark web."

I could feel the blood drain from my face. I knew it. I should’ve known. My hands clenched at my sides, trying to hold back the anger. "Has anything happened yet?"

She handed me her phone, and I immediately saw the flood of notifications. They were watching her.

"That’s how it starts," I said coldly. "A stalker will show up next."

Colet’s voice was low but firm. "We found something valuable, Gwen. Isn’t that enough? We can save Jho—"

I snapped, interrupting her. "And what? Lose you? "

The silence that followed was suffocating, and I hated myself for feeling this way.

Chapter Text

SHEENA

"Sino 'yan? Bago mong chicks? Isusumbong kita kay Staku mo, eh," I whispered to Ate Jho as we started eating lunch. I was asking about the girl she brought with us. It was supposed to be just the two of us. Usually, there were more—Stacey's friends, who were slowly becoming my friends too. But today, Jho brought this bob-haired girl who was quietly eating her sandwich.

She smacked me lightly on the head and whispered back, "Tanga, be nice to her. Kawawa 'yan sa amin. Lagi siyang binu-bully sa isa kong class."

I looked at the girl in front of me, eating quietly, and for some reason, my heart ached for her. "Bakit? Mabaho ba hininga niya? Parang hindi naman?"

Jho glared at me. "Tahimik siguro, kaya ginaganon. Pero matalino 'yan—science major."

I smirked. "So, you brought me another nerdy version of you?"

She stuck her tongue out at me, and I shook my head with a laugh before turning to the girl.

"Hi, Sheena. Sheena ganda," I introduced myself, holding out my hand.

She stared at it for a second. I almost thought she wouldn't take it, but then, shyly, she shook my hand. Guess she was just a little shy.

I climbed the stairs, balancing the book in one hand as I navigated through Ate Jho’s hallway. She had asked for it back, saying she needed it for class. When I arrived, she wasn’t there yet, but I spotted Gwen sitting in the front row—alone, as usual.

I was about to greet her when a group of girls beat me to it.

"Hoy, nagawa mo ba ‘yung assignment namin?" one of them demanded, arms crossed.

My brows furrowed at the entitlement in her tone. What the hell?

Gwen pulled out a paper—probably their assignment—but before she could hand it over, I grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She looked at me, startled.

"Kung kaya niyong gumastos sa bago ninyong lashes at acrylic nails, sigurado akong kaya niyong gawin ‘yung sarili niyong homework," I said sharply.

The girls scoffed, one raising a perfectly drawn brow. "Bakit? Sino ka ba?"

“Sheena, na mas maganda sa inyo.” I grinned.

I turned to Gwen, but before I could say anything, I caught movement—a hand reaching out, fast.

Before I could react, Gwen was already on her feet, gripping the girl’s wrist tightly.

"Sa akin, wala kayong respeto, okay lang," she said, her voice barely above a whisper but thick with warning. "Pero kapag kaibigan ko na ‘yung ginaganyan niyo, hindi ko kayo palalampasin."

Then, without hesitation, she shoved the girl back.

She took my hand and pulled me out of the classroom, our feet pounding against the hallway floors until we reached the bathroom.

She finally stopped and turned to me. "Okay ka lang?"

That’s when I noticed it—her hair framing her small face, her sharp eyes, her lips slightly parted from the rush.

“Bakit mo ginawa ‘yun?" I asked. "Baka balikan ka nila. Hindi mo kailangang ipagtanggol ako—"

She cut me off with a small, unexpected smile. "Okay lang ‘yun. Andyan ka naman para ipagtanggol din ako, ‘di ba?"

I never thought someone so cold could smile like that.

And god, it suited her.

As time passed, Gwen slowly became one of us. We secretly spoke to Mikha and Colet about her experiences with bullying, and behind her back, they took action—using their fathers’ influence and resources to address it with the school.

Gwen was starting to find her place among us, inching her way into our lives just as she had unknowingly done with mine. But while she was carving a space in their hearts as a friend, I could feel her presence settling in mine differently.

She wasn’t just becoming a part of my world.

She was opening my heart.

We spent countless hours hanging out in the school lab—it had become our sanctuary, a place where we could escape from everything else. Here, we talked about anything and everything, shared jokes, and found comfort in each other’s company.

Gwen was completely obsessed with science, but I didn’t mind. She could ramble on about viruses, genetics, and microorganisms all day, and I would listen, not because I understood everything, but because I loved the way she talked about it.

Her eyes would light up as she peered into the microscope, her fingers delicately adjusting the focus, excitement brimming in every word she spoke. And while she was lost in her world of science, I found myself lost in her.

She was always looking at the tiny wonders hidden beneath the lens.

And I was always looking at her—smiling, my heart full, just to see her happy.

Unexpectedly, Gwen asked me to take a look at what she was seeing through the microscope. I gladly obliged, eager to see what fascinated her so much. But the moment my eyes adjusted to the lens, my heart nearly stopped.

There, under the microscope, was something heart-shaped—some kind of microorganism? I wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but the shape was undeniable. I blinked a few times, making sure I wasn’t imagining it. Slowly, I pulled back and turned to Gwen, still processing what I saw.

"Heart…?" I started, but my words trailed off when I noticed what she was holding.

In one hand, she had an open container of palitaw, the rice cakes shaped into tiny hearts. In the other, she clutched a bouquet—crochet flowers, meticulously woven together. A heart-shaped balloon bobbed slightly beside her.

And then there was Gwen herself, looking anywhere but at me, her cheeks burning red.

"I—I don’t know if you feel the same way, Shee," she stammered, gripping the gifts tighter. "But by now, I think it’s obvious. With so many hearts surrounding us… I like you. Genuinely. I understand if you don’t feel the same, but… can you at least take my hearts home?"

She paused, then flinched, stumbling over her words. "No—I mean—!"

I cut her off with a laugh, shaking my head.

"Gwen, I like you too."

She blinked at me, completely caught off guard. "Wait… what? You’re not supposed to, though. I’m nerdy. I probably bore you out of your mind—"

I rolled my eyes and flicked her forehead gently. "Stupid. What do you mean? You’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met—how could that be boring? Besides, yeah, you’re nerdy. But you’re my nerd. My loser. My everything."

Her lips parted, stunned into silence.

I reached for the heart-shaped palitaw, grinning. "And of course, I’ll bring your hearts home. Every single one of them."

I woke up to a strange sound, groggy and disoriented. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I turned to my side—and my heart stopped.

"Jho!"

My voice cracked as I shot up from the bed. She was hunched over, vomiting onto the sheets, her tiny body trembling. My hands shook as I reached for her, pulling her into my arms. She felt alarmingly limp, her skin clammy and cold against mine. Her eyes fluttered, barely able to stay open.

Terror gripped me. I needed help. Now.

Everyone else was at school. It was just the two of us in the dorm. My mind raced, trying to decide what to do. I fumbled for my phone, but my hands were shaking too much to type properly. Should I call Colet? Mikha? What if they couldn’t get here in time? I looked down at Jho—her breathing was shallow. I couldn’t wait.

I grabbed the nearest umbrella and bolted out of the dorm, cradling Jho tightly against my chest. The moment I stepped outside, icy rain poured down on us. My umbrella barely shielded me, but I didn’t care that I was getting drenched. No tricycles. No taxis. No passing cars.

There was no time to wait.

So, I ran.

Through the downpour, through the empty streets, my feet slamming against the wet pavement. My arms ached from holding her, my lungs burned, my vision blurred with tears, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

I just had to get her there in time.

Chapter Text

MIKHA

When Sheena called, I was with Aiah, sitting in the canteen, halfway through our meal. The moment we heard what happened, we didn’t think twice—we left immediately.

Outside, the rain was relentless, making it nearly impossible to get to the hospital Sheena had mentioned. The downpour blurred the streets, the wipers struggling to clear the windshield as I drove. My grip on the steering wheel was tight, but my other hand found Aiah’s, squeezing it without a word.

We didn’t need to speak.

We both knew—the weight of the news was crushing us.

Coincidentally, the hospital was one of the many co-owned by my father and Colet’s father. But none of that mattered now. All I could think about was Jho.

And how terrified I was of what we’d find when we got there.

When we burst through the hospital doors, our eyes immediately landed on Sheena. She was seated in one of the waiting area chairs, shivering uncontrollably. Seeing her like this—it broke something inside me.

I crouched down to her level, my heart clenching at the distant look in her eyes. But the moment I opened my arms, she collapsed into me, gripping me tightly as she sobbed.

“Ate… bigla na lang siya nagsuka… bigla na lang, tapos nahimatay siya.” Her voice trembled, thick with fear. “Ate, bakit ganon? Mawawala na ba sa atin si Ate Jho?”

Her words sent a sharp pain through my chest.

Before I could respond, Aiah sat beside her, gently taking Sheena’s face in her hands, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear before wiping her tears away.

“Bunso,” she said softly but firmly, “magiging okay si Jho, ha? She’s going to be okay. Si Jho ‘yan. Hindi niya tayo iiwan.”

Sheena didn’t answer, just buried her face in Aiah’s shoulder, her sobs muffled but heartbreaking. And as much as I wanted to believe Aiah’s words, a gnawing fear sat heavy in my stomach.

What if this time… Jho wouldn’t come back to us?

I ordered a towel from one of the nurses—Sheena was soaked, completely drenched. If we didn’t dry her off soon, she might be the next one we’d have to bring to the hospital.

Aiah took the towel as soon as it arrived and carefully began wiping Sheena down the best she could. Sheena didn’t even have the strength to do it herself. It hit me then—she must have carried Jho all the way here, running through the rain without a second thought. That’s why she was like this, trembling, exhausted, barely holding herself together.

Aiah worked gently, but with urgency, her brows furrowed in worry. “Shee, bakit di mo muna kami tinawagan?” Her voice was soft, but the concern in it was heavy.

Sheena didn’t answer. She just kept staring at the floor, hands gripping the fabric of her clothes like she was still trying to process everything. And maybe she was.

After a while, the other girls arrived too—each of them wearing the same expression we had when we first got here. Worry. Fear. Helplessness.

The moment Sheena saw Gwen, she didn’t hesitate. She broke down, burying herself in Gwen’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Gwen held her tight, whispering something we couldn’t hear, her own face pale with worry.

We still had no news about Jho. The only thing the doctor had told us was that they had to rush her into the emergency room immediately. But she was just a child.

She was just a child.

Our Jho was just a child.

And yet, here we were, sitting in a cold waiting room, hands clasped together in silent prayers, hearts pounding with a fear none of us wanted to voice out loud.

Colet obviously wasn’t taking this well. She paced back and forth, her frustration building with every second. I could tell she was getting angry, and before I could stop her, she stormed toward the emergency room doors.

A nurse quickly stepped in her way. "Ma’am, you’re not allowed to go in there."

That was the last straw.

"Tangina! Papasukin mo ko!" she screamed. "Bakit hindi pa rin lumalabas yung mga doktor na ginagamot kaibigan ko? Papasukin mo ko! Tatay ko may-ari ng ospital na ’to! Isa akong Vergara—anak din yan ng Lim!"

She pointed at me, emphasizing the power we both held over this place. Her voice echoed through the corridor, raw with desperation.

I shook my head and stepped forward, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "Colet—"

But then, a man came out.

His presence alone sent a chill down my spine. The long, jagged scar that ran from his forehead down to his jaw made him look sinister, but what unsettled me more was the way he moved—slow, calculated, like a predator watching its prey.

The nurses handed him a cane, and he gripped it tightly, adjusting his stand. Was he injured? Disabled? I couldn't tell, but something about him felt… wrong.

Then I saw his hands. When he removed his medical gloves, I caught a glimpse of his fingers—thin, almost skeletal, with deep lines that looked like they had seen too much. But before I could take a proper look, he quickly slipped on a pair of black leather gloves, as if hiding something.

Colet had stopped screaming, her body stiff as she took in the sight of him. Aiah, Gwen, and Sheena went quiet too.

I swallowed hard.

"Are you related to the kid?" His voice was surprisingly calm—soothing, even—completely opposite to his sharp features.

None of us could answer right away. The truth was, we weren’t related to Jho by blood. Before the silence stretched too long, Stacey spoke up.

"We aren’t. Her parents are gone. We still don’t have official custody, but we’re her guardians."

That statement hit me like a brick. I turned to Stacey, my heart pounding. Gone? I had always assumed Jho’s parents were just working overseas, sending money when they could. But they were gone ? No one had ever told me that.

Colet, who had been on the verge of losing it moments ago, looked just as stunned. "You never told us," she said, her voice quieter than usual.

Stacey clenched her fists. "It wasn’t important," she muttered, but the way her voice wavered said otherwise.

The man exhaled slowly, pulling our attention back to him. "If none of you are her legal guardians yet," he said, voice still unreadable, "then her medical decisions are currently halted."

A heavy silence fell over us.

"What does that mean?" I demanded.

"It means," he said, looking directly at me, "that unless we find someone with legal authority over her, this hospital has limited options on how aggressively they can treat her condition."

Aiah gasped. "You’re saying—"

"She might not get the care she needs unless we act fast," he confirmed.

Colet’s hands curled into fists. "That’s bullshit. My father owns this hospital. If I say she gets treated, she gets treated."

The man’s lips curled into something resembling a smile, though it lacked any warmth. "If only it were that simple, Miss Vergara."

I felt rage bubbling in my chest. Jho was just a child. She was our Jho. And now, because of some rule, she might not get the help she needed?

No. I refused to accept that.

And for once—just this once—I had no choice. I had to use my dad’s power.

I called him. I didn’t need to explain the situation in detail; I just told him exactly what he needed to say and do. He didn’t question me, though I could hear the concern in his voice. I reassured him that I’d explain everything later.

Silently, I handed the phone to the doctor.

“Treat the child,” my father’s voice commanded. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure you lose your job. Give her the biggest room and the best treatment available.”

With that, the call ended.

I looked up at the doctor, expecting resistance or even fear—but instead, he was smiling. Or was it a smirk?

What the hell was so amusing to him about all of this?

"As you all wish," he said smoothly. "I will. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a child to take care of."

“Wait!” Sheena called out, her voice trembling. “You didn’t tell us yet—how is she? What’s wrong with her?”

The doctor offered a faint smile, his scar stretching, before responding, “She’s experiencing a febrile seizure. It’s something that can happen when a child runs a high fever. Typically, it’s not too serious and can be easily treated. However, the issue is that her body seems to be reacting in an unusual way. It’s as though the fever keeps cycling—coming and going, almost like her body can’t process it fully.”

We all exchanged looks, the implication of his words sinking in. It wasn’t just that Jho was a child—she was something more. She was the result of an experiment, and that was why this was happening. Even in her childlike state, Jho was still trapped in her suffering.

The doctor gave a nod and walked away, using his cane for support as he retreated down the hall.

Chapter Text

COLET

As soon as the doctor walked away, we only had to wait a few minutes before Jho was transferred to a private room. The moment we were given the all-clear, the girls rushed inside, eager to see her. I wanted to go in too—I really did—but my feet refused to move.

I stood frozen at the doorway, my breath hitching as fear clawed at my chest.

The last time I walked into a hospital room to see someone I loved, they never made it out alive. My mother died.

I wasn’t death itself, but somehow, it always seemed to follow me.

Was it me? Was this my fault?

I swallowed hard, trying to shake the thought away, but the weight of it lingered. What if history repeated itself? What if I walked into that room, and Jho never walked out?

But then, Maloi stepped out of the room and saw me still standing there, hesitant. She didn’t say anything at first, just looked at me with that knowing expression—like she understood, even though I hadn’t uttered a word.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. And right then and there, for some reason, I believed her.

“Pumasok ka na,” she added. “Hahanapin ka ng bunso natin.”

With that, she reached for my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine. I held on, grounding myself in her warmth, in her presence.

And as I finally stepped into the room, I wished—just for a second—that our hands could always stay like this. Because with Maloi beside me, it felt like I could conquer anything.

The moment I entered the room, I wanted to laugh. Somehow, despite everything, they still managed to make my heart feel lighter.

I had no idea how, but they had all squeezed themselves onto the bed with Jho—careful not to crush her, yet still managing to turn it into chaos. Stacey had Jho wrapped in her arms, and Sheena did too. They even looked like they were wrestling over her.

“Ano ba! Girlfriend ko ‘to!” Stacey protested, holding Jho tighter.

Sheena shot back, “Ate ko yan! Tsaka anong girlfriend? Bata pa si Ate Jho, oh! Ano ka, pedophile?”

Mikha and Aiah had curled up at the foot of the bed, trying to find space. Every now and then, Stacey or Sheena would accidentally kick them, and Mikha would swat at them in return.

As for Gwen, she didn’t even bother to join in. She just sat on the couch, watching the whole mess unfold with an amused expression.

And Maloi and I? We settled into the two single sofas beside the bed, simply watching them—taking in the warmth of the moment.

That’s when I finally allowed myself to really look at Jho.

She looked so small.

An oxygen mask covered her face, her breathing slow and steady. A dextrose IV was hooked up beside her, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the quiet room. For a moment, an irrational fear crept into me—what if that beeping suddenly stopped?

I forced myself to look away, my eyes landing on Mikha. And then, I smiled.

For once, she had used her father’s power. I had always done it—used my own father’s influence to get my way, even when I knew it came with violent consequences. But Mikha? She was always the calm, lowkey one, avoiding conflict as much as she could. Yet today, the way she handled things, the way she fought just to make sure Jho had everything she needed—it was incredible.

She wasn’t loud about it, but she had moved mountains for Jho. And that was enough.

We were savoring the moment, letting ourselves breathe for the first time in what felt like forever—until my phone suddenly rang.

An unknown number.

My stomach twisted. It was the same number that had been texting me, telling me it knew where I was, sending full details of my location like a shadow lurking just behind me.

Maloi glanced over, asking who it was. I forced a casual shrug. "Probably a delivery."

But when I looked at Gwen, I knew she understood.

We didn’t need words. The silent communication between us said everything. She was still upset with me for what I had done, but we had made progress. Still, even now, I could tell we were both shaken. The revelation we had uncovered had left us stuck, frozen in place, unsure of the next move. We had a name—something solid to hold onto—but that was all. And now, with Jho suddenly falling sick, everything else had come to a halt.

But I knew Gwen.

She wouldn’t stop. She may not have spoken about it, but the dark circles under her eyes told me enough. I had asked the school guard about her if she was always at the school lab, and he revealed she was there almost every day, staying late, searching, trying to piece something together.

She was trying to find a way to bring Jho back.

Oh, Gwen.

I stood up and walked out, gripping my phone tightly as I made my way toward the rooftop. My heart pounded as I answered.

“Ano ba gusto mo?”

Before I could process anything else, I felt it—a knife pressed lightly against the back of my neck.

“Money,” the caller replied, his voice cold and steady.

The voice wasn’t coming from my phone. It was right behind me.

Slowly, I turned to face him. He had no mask, no attempt to conceal himself. He was that confident. That reckless.

I pulled out the cash from my pocket and threw it on the ground. “There.”

He smirked as he bent down to pick it up.

"Careful," he murmured. "I might just take it out on that little girl you care so much about. Thanks, Vergara."

My blood ran cold. That was what scared me—not the knife, not the man himself—his words.

As he walked away, my knees gave out, and I collapsed onto the ground, my breath shaky. Then, footsteps approached.

I tensed, expecting the worst—but it wasn’t him.

A pair of polished leather shoes came into view. A cane.

I looked up and met the doctor’s gaze.

He smiled, and the scar across his face stretched unnervingly.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to stand. Had he seen everything?

I forced myself to stand, trying to regain my composure, wondering if he had seen everything.

I turned toward the rooftop edge, looking out at the city lights shimmering in the distance. He stepped beside me and, to my surprise, offered me a cigarette.

I hesitated before taking it. "Diba dapat hindi kayo nagaganito?" I asked, gesturing to the cigarette.

"I'm not your usual doctor," he answered simply.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Are you willing to do anything for someone you love?"

The girls flashed through my mind. Without hesitation, I answered, "Yes."

He took a slow drag from his cigarette, then exhaled. "Me too."

Then, he dropped the cigarette.

I watched it fall—slow, almost in sync with time itself. And at the exact moment it hit the ground, a commotion erupted below.

A man—no, the man from earlier—was hit.

I turned to face him, my breath unsteady. I knew he had nothing to do with it—so why did my instincts scream that he did?

His jaw was clenched. His fists tightened at his sides.

For the first time, I felt real fear.

I took a step back. Then another.

And I ran.

Not even saying goodbye.

Chapter Text

STACEY

It had been three days since Jho’s condition began to improve, and we spent the afternoon watching Pitch Perfect on the little TV we had in the corner. Sheena playfully suggested that Colet’s dad must’ve gambled the money away, explaining the tiny screen.

It was funny, but the laughter was accompanied by a quiet sense of warmth as we tried to teach Jho nursery rhymes and letters. It felt petty, yet important in its own way. Jho seemed to enjoy it, and that’s all that mattered.

As we were enjoying the moment, the doctor walked in. He wasn’t the most comforting figure, his presence always making everyone uneasy. The doctor approached Jho’s bed, his usual air of mystery hanging over him. His fingers worked with practiced precision as he checked her vitals, tapping on the screen of his portable device before adjusting a few things here and there. We all hovered quietly, careful not to disrupt him.

Jho, oblivious to the tension around her, giggled as Sheena showed her the next letter of the alphabet. A small, proud smile tugged at my lips as I watched Jho's innocent excitement over something so simple. It felt good, seeing her like this—alive, laughing, engaging. Even after everything she’d been through.

Eventually, the doctor finished his examination. We were all still focused on keeping Jho entertained, but at the same time, our ears were tuned in to his words.

"She's improving," he stated plainly, making all of us exhale in relief. "But she still needs to be monitored."

It felt like a weight had been lifted—at least for now. Jho, oblivious to the tension in the room, continued playing, her small hands flipping through the pages of a book. The doctor, instead of stepping away, moved closer to her. His gloved hand reached out, brushing aside a stray strand of her hair.

Something about the gesture unsettled us. Colet, Mikha, and Gwen tensed, ready to intervene. But before any of them could react, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist—firm, unwavering.

Aiah.

Ate Aiah.

She wasn’t the type to get involved in situations like this. She was always calm, always collected. But right now, her expression was cold, unreadable.

"Tapos ka na, diba?" Her voice was steady, but there was something sharp underneath it, something that made the doctor pause.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, almost casually, he pulled his hand back, seemingly unfazed. A small, unreadable smile played on his lips as he muttered, "Sorry. She just reminds me of my daughter."

The room fell into an uneasy silence.

There was something about the way he said it—something that sent a chill down my spine.

The doctor had barely turned away when Jho suddenly grabbed his hand, her small fingers clutching onto his gloved ones.

"Thank you po!" she chirped, her voice bright and full of innocence. "Dahil sa inyo, magaling na po ako! Masaya na ulit sila Ate ko!"

For a moment, time felt lighter. The doctor froze before offering her a small, fleeting smile. It wasn’t much, but it was real—genuine. There was something almost… soft in his expression, a hint of something buried deep, something he wasn’t saying.

And then—

The world shattered.

A sharp, piercing alarm filled the room, cutting through the air like a blade. The heart monitor.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Erratic. Loud. Too loud.

Jho, who had just been smiling, just been speaking, suddenly went still.

Her body slumped forward, her hands sliding off the doctor’s fingers like a lifeless doll. Her head lolled to the side, the warmth in her face vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

"Jho?" My voice cracked, trembling, barely even audible over the chaos beginning to erupt around us.

No.

No. No. No.

"JHO!"

Everything blurred. Everything twisted.

The nurses and doctors stormed in, their movements urgent, frantic. Someone—maybe Sheena, maybe Colet—had shoved away the toys, the books, anything that might block their way. Hands pushed against me, against all of us, forcing us back, ripping us away from her.

"Move! Step back!" one of the nurses ordered, but my feet wouldn’t move. My mind wouldn’t move.

Colet was screaming—screaming—demanding answers in a voice so broken, so raw, that it felt like the walls themselves might crack from the force of it. Maloi held her back, arms locked tightly around her, but Colet thrashed against her grip, as if sheer desperation alone could force her way to Jho.

Mikha stood frozen, her face drained of all color, clutching onto Aiah, who was trembling violently, her breath ragged and uneven.

Sheena was fighting, clawing her way forward, trying to get past the barricade of doctors and nurses, but Gwen had her in an iron grip. "Let me go! LET ME GO!" Sheena sobbed, her voice breaking into pieces. But Gwen wouldn’t let her.

Wouldn’t let any of us.

And me?

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t think.

Because all I could see—

All I could think about—

Was that Jho was here.

She was alive.

She was right in front of us, smiling, breathing, living—

So why?

Why were they taking her away?

"Hey, stupid. I got you a newspaper."

I tossed it onto the dining table of their dorm, my eyes immediately searching for the love of my life. The moment I saw her, sitting on the couch, my heart softened—she was beaming. Over something as simple as a newspaper.

"Thank you, mahal!" she said, her voice full of warmth.

She had always loved reading the news, but she swore there was something special about holding an actual newspaper in her hands. "It feels more real," she once told me. A journalism major thing, I guess.

I didn’t really care about the reason. All that mattered was that she was happy. And as long as I could keep bringing that smile to her face, I would.

"She's back."

The words barely left the doctor's mouth before the room fell into a suffocating silence. It was like the air had been sucked out, leaving only the sound of our own panicked breathing.

Then—Colet snapped.

With fire in her eyes and devastation in her veins, she charged at the doctor. The nurses barely held her back as she screamed, voice shaking, words unraveling from a place far beyond anger.

"Sabi mo okay na siya! Bakit biglang ganon?!" Her voice cracked. It wasn’t just fury—it was fear. A fear so deep it clawed its way out as rage.

The doctor didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look away. "Hindi ko rin alam. Akala ko din—"

But before he could finish, Colet's fist connected with his face. A sickening sound echoed through the room.

"Tanga! Tanga! Tanga!" She thrashed against Maloi’s grip, her entire body trembling. "Pag nangyari pa ’to ulit—lahat kayo, lahat ng may kinalaman dito—mga doctor, mga nurse—idedemanda ko kayong lahat!" Her voice wavered, breaking on the last word.

Maloi held her tighter, murmuring something, something meant to ground her, but even she sounded unsteady. And then, in the softest, most fragile voice, she turned to the doctor. "Doc… ano po ba talaga?"

The doctor exhaled sharply, wiping the blood from his mouth, his nurses fussing over him. He didn’t answer right away. Maybe he didn’t have one. Maybe that was the scariest part of all.

Finally, he muttered, "I need to run more tests."

Then he left.

Left us standing there.

Left Jho lying in that bed, small and frail, looking so impossibly still.

Jho was asleep again.

My Jho was asleep again.

And in that moment, I swear—I thought we had lost her.

GWEN 

I was asleep. The exhaustion from the past few days had finally caught up to me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, my body surrendered to the weight of it.

Then, a voice—hoarse, fragile, barely a whisper—pulled me out of it.

"Gwen..."

At first, I thought it was one of the girls, maybe one of them had finally come back. They had left hours ago to grab more of Jho’s clothes, leaving just the two of us here. I still had her cradled in my arms, something I never would have done before. I didn’t like physical touch. I never did. But after everything that happened today, after how close we had come to losing her—I held her anyway. For her, I would.

But something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

Because when I forced my heavy eyes open— it wasn’t the child staring back at me.

I gasped, my entire body jerking back, slipping off the bed and crashing onto the floor. My breath hitched in my throat. My heart pounded. Because Jho— but not Jho —was looking right at me.

Not the small, fragile girl we had been taking care of.

But the adult.

The adult Jho.

The one we lost.

Her eyes, full of something unreadable, reached for me—like she was trying to hold on, like she was begging me to understand. I wanted to reach back. I wanted to move. I couldn’t move.

Then, she spoke.

"Si Papa..."

The door burst open.

I turned so fast my neck ached, expecting— praying —that it was the girls. That someone was here. That I wasn’t alone in this.

But it wasn’t them.

It was him.

The doctor.

The dim hospital light cast heavy shadows over his face, making the scar stretch wider as he smiled. He stood there, leaning on his cane, watching me. Watching us .

I swallowed hard, my body screaming at me to react, to do something, anything —but when I turned back to the bed—

She was gone.

Jho was just a child again.

Curled up, fast asleep, as if nothing had happened at all.

My hands were shaking. My chest felt too tight. I looked back at the doctor, but he just kept standing there—like he knew .

Like he had been waiting for this.

And suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I had just woken up from a nightmare—

Or if I was still trapped in one.

Chapter Text

STACEY

When we arrived back at the hospital with Jho’s clothes, none of us spoke. We barely even breathed. The weight of what had happened earlier still clung to us like a thick fog—suffocating, inescapable.

Sheena’s silent cries were the only sound among us, and even then, they were barely there, just shaky breaths and quiet sniffles. But none of us dared to comfort her. Not because we didn’t care—but because we all felt it. The fear. The helplessness. The overwhelming dread that we weren’t ready to name yet.

Still, even in our silence, we had each other . And somehow, that was enough. No matter what happened—good, bad, or unbearable—if I had to go through it, I’d always choose to go through it with them .

As we neared Jho’s room, a shiver crawled up my spine. Something felt... off.

Gwen was supposed to be inside. We had left her behind to watch over Jho—she would never leave her alone.

But the door.

The door was open.

We didn’t leave it like that.

And Gwen wouldn’t have either.

For the first time since we arrived, we weren’t just scared.

We were terrified .

We rushed inside, our hearts pounding in unison. The first thing we saw was the doctor, standing near the door, his expression unreadable. And then—Gwen.

She was on the floor.

My breath hitched. My mind immediately jumped to the worst. Did he hurt her?

I knew I wasn’t the only one thinking it because, before any of us could react, Mikha—calm, rational Mikha—had already grabbed the doctor by the collar, shoving him back against the wall. Her grip was tight, her voice sharp as a blade.

"What the hell did you do?"

None of us had ever spoken about it outright, but we all felt it. Something was off about this man. It wasn’t just the scars on his face, the cane, or the way he always seemed to linger just a little too long. It was his presence —unnerving, calculating, wrong.

And we weren’t imagining it. We knew something was terribly wrong with him.

Before Mikha could do anything else, Aiah stepped in, prying her off him, while Sheena hurried to Gwen’s side, her hands unexpectedly gentle.

“Gwen, what happened?” Sheena’s voice was soft, almost desperate.

Gwen took a shaky breath. “Mikha, it’s okay,” she said, though her voice wavered. “Wala siyang ginawa. Nahulog lang ako sa kama... tapos nung nagising ako, andyan na siya.”

She explained, but the fear in her eyes betrayed her. Gwen—our Gwen, who was always composed, always unreadable—looked shaken .

Mikha turned to her, brows furrowed. “Sure ka?” Her voice had lost its sharpness, replaced by something quieter.

Gwen nodded. It was enough for Mikha to release her grip, shoving the doctor back as she did.

But none of us were convinced.

Because Gwen might have said she was fine.

But she looked anything but fine.

"Pag nalaman kong may ginawa ka sa kaibigan ko… lagot ka sa akin."

Mikha's voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and unwavering.

We all turned to her, stunned.

Mikha—the quiet one, the rational one—was now standing rigid, her fists clenched at her sides, her gaze burning with an anger we had never seen before. It was always Colet who lashed out, always Colet who took the fire and made it rage. But now?

The world had shifted.

The silent had become the violent. And the violent had fallen silent.

Maybe this was how we were all breaking. Maybe grief wasn’t just about sadness—it was about unraveling in ways we never expected.

Losing Jho.

Losing my girlfriend.

It felt like the ground beneath us was cracking, and we were all desperately trying to hold on.

But the doctor? He only laughed. A low, unsettling chuckle, as if none of this fazed him. As if he was amused by the chaos unraveling before him.

"Ang biyolente niyong magkakaibigan, ‘no?" he mused, straightening his collar, his tone laced with mockery.

No one reacted. No one even acknowledged him.

Instead, as if drawn by some unspoken force, we turned back to Jho—our Jho—where she lay so still, too still, on the hospital bed.

And then, Colet finally spoke.

"Bakit ka nandito?" Colet’s voice was sharp, demanding.

We didn’t turn to face him when he answered. His voice remained calm, steady, unaffected by the weight of what Mikha just told him. 

"I have some answers, though nothing is certain yet. Remember what I told you? About how her body keeps reacting? That’s still happening. Even now, it continues to accept and reject it. But we’re monitoring her closely."

No one spoke.

We all just stood there, our eyes locked on Jho, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest as if any moment now, it might stop. The fear still clung to us, thick and suffocating, after what had happened earlier.

The doctor left without another word. The soft click of the door closing behind him felt heavier than it should have.

A beat passed before Gwen finally exhaled and whispered, “I need some air.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She just walked out.

I noticed the way Sheena’s fingers twitched, the way she shifted forward slightly, wanting—needing—to follow. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. When her eyes met mine, she didn’t have to say a word. I understood.

So, I went instead.

I knew exactly where she’d be.

The rooftop.

By the time I got there, the sky had deepened into hues of burnt orange and dusky violet, the last remnants of sunlight casting long shadows across the city. It had been such a long, exhausting day.

As I approached, a thin wisp of smoke curled into the air.

That’s when I saw it.

The cigarette between her fingers.

Gwen, who had promised she’d quit. Gwen, who only ever turned to this when she was unraveling.

Right now, she was unraveling.

And it hurt to see.

I walked up beside her, the cool evening air pressing against my skin. The city lights flickered below, distant and unfazed, as if the world hadn’t just been flipped upside down.

"I could use one of those too," I muttered, nodding toward the cigarette between her fingers. "But Jho would be upset."

Gwen didn’t respond right away. She just exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching it disappear into the sky. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, "No one would be upset now if I smoked again."

That stung.

I knew it had been a month since they broke up, but hearing her say it like that—so detached, so certain—felt like the final nail in the coffin of something I had still secretly hoped could be repaired. Shee would’ve taken her back in a second. Everyone knew that. But Gwen… Gwen had already decided.

Still, I asked, "Ayaw mo na ba talaga?"

Silence. Of course. Typical Gwen.

So I spoke instead.

"I didn’t quit smoking just because Jho asked me to," I started, my voice softer now. " I stopped because of her asthma. It was bad for her."

I didn’t expect an answer, but after a long pause, she finally asked, "How did you do it?"

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head.

"Other than replacing it with lollipops?" I tried to smile, but it barely formed. "Jho was enough. No—she wasn’t just a distraction. She was everything. She was just... there, you know? More than enough. More than anything. She made it easy to choose her over a cigarette. She was the only reason I ever needed to stop."

For the first time, Gwen turned to look at me. And in her eyes, I saw it—the weight she carried, the grief she buried, the guilt she refused to name. I saw the way she ached for something she’d already lost but still longed to hold onto.

And maybe, just maybe, she realized—Shee had been her enough , too.

Gwen turned her head back toward the view. The sky still held some light, a soft glow stretching across the horizon, and for a moment, we both silently took it in. I used to love sunsets. I still do. But once, I watched the stars with Jho, and that night changed everything. The stars were breathtaking, far more captivating than any sunset I had ever seen. But I guess I had to admit, maybe it was just because I was with Jho. The way she made everything feel brighter, more vivid. It wasn’t the stars or the sunset; it was her presence, the way she made the simplest moments unforgettable. With her, everything else just faded into the background.

 But even then, none of it compared to her. Jho was more beautiful than the stars, the sunset—more beautiful than anything.

"Paano namatay ang mga magulang ni Jho?" Gwen's voice broke the silence. I blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things she could’ve asked, I didn’t expect that. But maybe it was time—at least one of the girls deserved to know.

"Jho never really talked about the details," I admitted. "But she told me they died in a car crash."

Gwen didn’t respond right away. Instead, she stared ahead, her expression unreadable. Then, in a voice quieter but laced with something unsettling, she asked, "Sigurado ka? Na talagang patay na sila?"

I frowned at her question. There was something in the way she said it—like she was doubting the truth itself.

"Yeah... I mean, Jho wouldn’t have taken on part-time jobs if they were still alive. If her parents were around, they would’ve provided for her. But her money? She earns every peso herself."

For some reason, my own words left a strange feeling in my chest. And the way Gwen was looking at me—like she knew something I didn’t—made it even worse.

"Bakit niyo tinago? Bakit tinago ni Jho?" Gwen’s voice was sharp, demanding—like she wasn’t just asking a question but searching for something deeper.

I sighed, feeling the weight of the truth settle in my chest. "I don’t know either," I admitted. "She just asked me not to tell anyone, and I agreed. Maybe because… even though we’re all close, I was the one she let in the most. With me, she didn’t have to put on a brave face. She could be real. And if carrying that secret meant easing her burden, then I was willing to do it.”

I glanced at Gwen, watching the way her jaw clenched, her fingers twitching like she was itching to say something. Instead, I continued, "But if I had to guess, it wasn’t just that. Jho knew the moment you all found out, things would change. You’d start looking at her differently—with pity. And she never wanted that. She always put everyone else before herself."

I let out a small, hollow laugh. "She knew Colet and Mikha would’ve done something about it too. They wouldn’t have thought twice about giving her their money, trying to make things easier for her. And not just them—all of you would have done everything in your power to help her. But she didn’t want that."

The silence between us stretched, heavy and unspoken. Gwen didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. I could see it in her eyes—she understood. Maybe too well.

She took a slow drag from her cigarette, the ember glowing in the dimming light. Then, out of nowhere, Gwen asked, “Are you willing to do anything for the person you love, Stacey?”

Her voice was quiet, but the weight of her question settled over me like a heavy fog. I didn’t need time to think. I thought about the girls—the bond we shared, the way we would do anything for each other. But then my mind turned to Jho. My Jho. Just the thought of her tightened something in my chest. Without hesitation, I nodded.

Gwen’s response was almost a whisper, but there was something sharp beneath it. “Me too. I’d do anything for her… even if it means hurting everyone.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She didn’t say a name, but I knew exactly who she meant. Her hands were curled into fists, her jaw tight—like she had been holding this in for too long, and now, it was finally slipping through the cracks. It wasn’t just an answer. It was a confession. A warning.

I held her gaze, but I didn’t let it shake me. Because the truth was, I understood. I knew what it meant to love someone so much that you’d be willing to burn the world down for them.

I, too, would do anything for Jho. Even if it meant hurting everyone around me.

Even if it meant hurting Gwen.

Chapter Text

COLET

It was the next day, just as the clock struck 8 PM, when Jhoanna finally opened her eyes. She blinked, as if nothing had ever happened, slipping back into her playful self like she hadn’t just been on the brink of death. But did she even understand how close she was to being lost to us? Did she know how deeply we feared the thought of never seeing her smile again?

And then, the thought hit me like a punch to the gut—if we ever brought Jhoanna back, when she was fully restored, would she even remember any of this? Would she remember the weight of how much we loved her? Would she remember how we fought tooth and nail just to keep her with us?

The day had dragged on, the weight of worry still heavy in the air. We hadn’t eaten since yesterday, all of us too caught up in fussing over Jho to even think about food. I could feel the hunger pressing against me, and I knew the others were feeling it too. But despite our own exhaustion, what really stood out to me was Gwen. She hadn’t left Jho’s side for a second. She was there when Jho woke up, there when she laughed, there when she slept. And as I watched Gwen, my heart ached. A single tear slipped down her cheek, one she quickly wiped away as if trying to erase it, but I saw it. She was hurting, too.

Losing Jho felt like losing a part of myself, a part of all of us. It was as though the world had tilted on its axis, and we were all trying to regain our balance, but still on the edge. Even with Jho awake, it felt as though we were living in a fragile moment, one we couldn’t control, one we couldn’t fully understand.

Breaking the silence, I finally spoke, trying to take charge of the situation. “Ano gusto niyo? Hindi pa tayo kumakain simula kahapon. Ako na bibili, gising na si Jho.” I offered, but even as the words left my mouth, I hesitated. Part of me didn’t want to go. I was terrified that if I stepped away, even for a moment, I might come back to find that Jho was gone again. The thought of that uncertainty weighed heavily on me.

The girls all nodded, agreeing, but the decision on what food to get seemed to stall. “Jollibee na lang, fave ni Jho ‘yan,” Stacey suggested, but Sheena quickly interjected, “Anong kinekeme mo d’yan, eh hindi naman niya makakain ‘yan, bawal sa kanya! McDo dapat!” And Mikha, always the one to lighten the mood, teased, “Gusto daw ni Sheena McDo, okay, Jollibee tayo.”

In that moment, the tension broke, and the room filled with laughter. The sound was like a balm for my soul. It felt good to laugh again, to share this moment of normalcy, all because of Jho. Just as I was about to leave, I heard Jho’s voice calling out to me.

“Ate Colet! San ka punta?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with warmth. I walked closer to her, touching her face gently, my heart racing with the fear that I might lose her again. I studied her, as if memorizing every detail, afraid that she might disappear if I looked away.

“Bibili ng pagkain. Jollibee, pero—hep—bawal pa sa’yo ‘yan,” I said softly, trying to lighten the mood. She pouted, and my heart swelled at the sight of her, so full of life despite everything.

“Sa susunod, once na makalabas ka dito, bibili tayo ng maraming ice cream, okay ba yun?” I offered, hoping to give her something to look forward to.

Her eyes lit up, and without warning, she kissed me on the cheek. I froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the warmth of her affection. She was here. She was with us. And that small kiss reminded me of how much she meant to me, how much she meant to all of us.

I turned to Maloi, who was sitting on the single sofa near Jho. I kissed her on the cheek and whispered, "I'll be going. I'll be back soon." She looked up at me, her eyes soft, and started to say, "Samahan—"

I gently cut her off, offering her a reassuring smile. "Love, wag na. Okay na. Nakatulog naman ako. Sige na." I said, my voice filled with a quiet but firm tenderness. 

With that, I turned to leave, my heart a little lighter, knowing that Jho was still here, still fighting, still holding on.

The cool night air greeted me as I stepped out of the hospital, the stars twinkling above like little diamonds scattered across the sky. I tugged my hoodie tighter around me, heading towards the Jollibee nearby. The simple act of getting food for the girls felt oddly comforting. It was one of those rare moments when the smallest things seemed meaningful. Doing something for the people I loved—this, I thought, is enough.

I couldn't help but smile, my heart feeling lighter than it had all day. As I passed a 7/11 near the hospital, I let out a soft breath, appreciating the quiet of the night. But then, in a split second, everything changed. A hand shot out and gripped my arm, yanking me back with such force I barely had time to react. My mouth was covered before I could scream, the rough palm muffling any sound. Panic surged through me, but his hold was unyielding. I struggled, desperate to break free, but the strength of his grip was overpowering.

A voice, cold,  broke through the chaos. "Payment, Vergara."

I tried to focus through the fear, and that’s when I saw them—three men, looming in the shadows.

Despite the fear clawing at me, the fighting lessons I'd endured kicked in. With a surge of adrenaline, I managed to shoulder the man off, cracking my head into his chin. His grip faltered, just enough for me to break free and make a run for it.

But before I could even get a few steps, something heavy and solid slammed into the side of my head. I hit the ground hard, gasping for air, the world spinning violently. I rolled automatically, struggling to push through the pain, but then I saw them again—the three men.

The middle one was holding a wooden plank, and the other had blood dripping from their mouths.

"Marunong pala sumapak 'tong isa," one of them muttered with a twisted smile.

They pulled me to my knees, their grip relentless as I choked on my own breath. The man with the plank grabbed my chin, forcing my head up to face him. He was spitting as he screamed, his fury practically suffocating me.

"Alam mo, hindi kami nanunugod ng mga tao sa putanginang dark web na yan. Nagbabayad lahat ng tumatambay doon, pati ikaw, nagbayad ka! Pero ikaw, ikaw 'yung anak ng mayor, diba? 'Yung putanginang mayor na 'yan na sinira buhay namin para lang itayo 'yung mall niyang putanginang 'yon!"

His breath was bad, his rage infectious. His spit hit my face, but I refused to cower. The anger burned within me, stronger than the fear. With all the strength I could muster, I spat directly into his eyes.

I knew it was a mistake the moment he slapped me—twice, sharp and quick. Then he stepped back, tightening his grip on the wooden plank, his eyes wild with anger.

“Hawakan niyo 'yan,” he barked at the two men still holding me, their hands tightening like iron chains.

The next blow hit my face, the plank slamming into my cheek with brutal force. I coughed violently, blood splattering across the ground, a bitter taste flooding my mouth. Before I could even recover, the plank crashed into my stomach, sending me to my knees, though they kept me upright, clutching me tightly as I struggled for air.

The man swung between punches and strikes with the plank, alternating blows with terrifying rhythm. Pain shot through my body with every hit, but through the haze of suffering, my thoughts couldn’t stray far from the girls. How long had it been since we ate? How hungry they must be. And Jho—her smile, her voice. I promised her we’d buy more ice cream when she was out of the hospital. Maloi, my girlfriend... I promised her I would come back. But now, I realize, I might never make it back to her. I couldn’t let go of that.

I muttered through clenched teeth, my voice barely audible, “Bibili pa ako… pagkain…”

They laughed at my pain, the sound twisted and cruel. The man with the plank raised it once more, aiming for my legs. I braced myself, but then, something changed.

The strike never came.

My swollen eyes fought to open, but through the haze of pain, I saw him—a white coat, a doctor, moving swiftly, using his cane. The man who’d been beating me dropped to the ground, knocked out cold. The doctor didn’t hesitate, taking down the two men holding me as well, throwing them aside like they were nothing.

I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming. Was I losing my mind? Or was it real?

Before I could even fall, strong arms caught me, steadying me. It was him. Jho’s doctor.

“Hang on,” he said, his voice low but firm. “She’s waiting for you. They’re waiting for you.”

His words, simple but heavy, grounded me. It was enough to make me fight through the pain, enough to hold on. I clung to him, the reality of what he said piercing through the fog of exhaustion and hurt. Jho needed me. The girls needed me.

And with everything I had left, I focused on that—on them—before the darkness finally took me.

Chapter Text

MALOI

We were in the room, sharing light moments with Jho, laughing together like everything was fine. Colet had been gone for a while, and Sheena, ever the jokester, teased, "Ang tagal ni Ate Colet, Ate Maloi, nakipagkita ata sa kabit niya." I rolled my eyes but smiled, still enjoying the peace of the moment. We were okay. Or at least, we thought we were.

And then, the door burst open.

Jho’s doctor rushed in, followed by a group of nurses. The air in the room shifted, the weight of something unseen pressing down on us. My breath caught in my throat. For a moment, my heart lurched—was something wrong with Jho? But she was fine. She was right there, still smiling. Still breathing.

Then I saw it.

A nurse trailed in last, pushing a stretcher. My eyes followed the motion, my brain slow to register what I was seeing. The body on it was bloodied, broken. But it wasn’t just anyone. It wasn’t a stranger.

It was Colet.

It was my Colet.

Blood soaked her clothes, smeared her skin, and suddenly, the world felt unreal, like it was tilting, breaking apart at the seams. Jho’s cries rang out, sharp and panicked, but I couldn’t move. The nurses were trying to push us back, keep us away, but I couldn’t hear them.

All I could see was her.

All I could feel was the crushing weight of realization.

Colet. Bloody. Unmoving.

She was supposed to come back. She was supposed to be okay.

But now—now, she was fighting for her life.

The nurses rushed in, pushing Jho’s bed back to make space—no, preparing space—for Colet. The room felt wrong, like the air had thickened, pressing down on us as they worked quickly, voices overlapping in frantic urgency.

Her body—bruised, swollen, bloodied—looked unrecognizable, like someone had tried to break her down piece by piece. Jho’s cries pierced through everything, shaking in Sheena’s arms. Could she even understand? Did she know that the person who promised her ice cream might not be there to keep that promise?

Gwen stood frozen, silent tears streaking her face, while Mikha shoved against the hands keeping us back, her voice raw with something desperate. “Ano’ng nangyari? Ano’ng ginawa niyo sa kanya?” No one answered. No one even looked at us. Aiah didn’t try to stop her—none of us did. We just stood there, suffocating under the weight of something we couldn’t yet name.

Colet wasn’t dying. She couldn’t be. But seeing her like this—barely breathing, barely holding on—felt like watching the sky collapse. She should be here with food, smiling, teasing us, telling us she took too long because she couldn’t decide between Jollibee or McDo.

But instead, she was here. And I didn’t know if she was ever coming back.

Jhoanna’s doctor met my eyes, his expression steady, unreadable. That was when I finally took in his name— Dr. Suiren.

"You can hold her hand. We can manage," he said, his voice calm yet firm. The nurses hesitated, their concern evident, but before they could object, he spoke again—sharper this time. "We can manage."

Slowly, I stepped forward. Each movement felt heavy, like walking through water, like the air itself was pressing down on me. I was scared—terrified that touching her might make it worse, that she would slip away the moment my skin met hers.

But I reached for her anyway.

Her hand was cold, bruised, but still hers. My fingers trembled as they intertwined with hers, and in that moment, something inside me cracked open. Tears spilled freely, silent but relentless. My chest felt too tight, my breaths shallow and uneven.

"Hey… I'm here. We’re all here. Just hold on, okay? Please… don’t leave."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake her awake, to demand that she fight, to remind her that she promised— she promised —to come back.

But all I could do was hold on, afraid that if I let go, she might slip through my fingers forever.

The chaos in the room began to die down slowly, the energy shifting from frantic to something eerily still. The nurses’ movements were calmer now, as if they had finally come to terms with what was happening. My hands, still tightly gripping Colet’s, felt like they were holding onto the last piece of sanity. The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound that reminded us she was still here, but it wasn’t enough. My heart was still heavy, wondering how much longer we would have to wait.

Jho, on the other hand, couldn’t understand. Her cries were sharp, desperate, her small hands reaching out for Colet, wanting to hold her, wanting to bring her back. She didn’t understand why Colet wasn’t waking up, why her favorite person wasn’t answering her. Sheena turned to Dr. Suiren with a silent plea. After what felt like a lifetime, he gave a small nod. That was all she needed.

With the utmost care, Sheena carried Jho over to Colet and laid her beside her. Jho immediately curled against her, her tiny body trembling as she pressed herself close to Colet’s still form, as if trying to bring her back with the warmth of her love.

The room finally emptied as the nurses filed out, leaving only Dr. Suiren behind. His eyes met ours, and he spoke, his voice calm but filled with a gravity that only made the weight of the moment heavier. “She’s stable now. She just needs rest. Her injuries will heal. Luckily, none of her ribs were severely damaged, but when she wakes up, she’ll be in pain.”

I tried to let the words sink in, to feel some relief, but the fear still gnawed at me. She was here, but she wasn’t. We knew she would heal, but the emotional pain was already too deep. I stared at Colet’s bruised and battered face, wondering if she would ever be the same again, if the girl I loved would still be the same when she opened her eyes.

Jho didn’t understand the full scope of it. She only knew one thing—that Colet was here, and she wasn’t. But for now, she clung to her, and that was enough to keep us all hanging on. The doctor’s words lingered, a faint hope in the distance. She would be okay. But until she woke up, until I could hold her in my arms and hear her laugh again, the pain would remain.

None of us were ready to face what came next.

Mikha’s frustration spilled out, “What happened? Colet was just supposed to go out for food. She shouldn’t be back like this. Why is she hurt? We were supposed to eat together.”

Dr. Suiren’s eyes darkened as he explained, “I was on my break, walking to 7/11, when I saw a group of people beating someone in an alley. They were using a heavy piece of wood. I didn’t realize it was Colet until I got close enough to stop them.”

His words gave us the what, but the why echoed unanswered in the room. What could have driven someone to do this? Why Colet?

I felt my throat tighten, unable to say anything for a moment, but finally, I whispered, “Doc, thank you.”

He gave me a soft, almost apologetic smile, not the stern face I’d seen before. It made me realize how harsh we had been with him, and a sense of guilt overwhelmed me. He left without another word, and we were left with nothing but the quiet hum of machines and the sound of Jho’s cries in the background. We were waiting, but I wasn’t sure if I could handle the wait.

After what felt like hours, Colet’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and my hand remained tightly holding hers, unwilling to let go. We rushed to her side, asking if anything hurt, but she didn’t answer. Instead, tears fell freely down her face.

Sheena, noticing the distress, quickly stood up, ready to get help, but Colet shook her head weakly, signaling she didn’t want that. The room fell into a heavy silence as Colet continued to cry, her sobs shaking her body.

Slowly, she attempted to sit up, and we helped her carefully, Jhoanna still curled up in her lap. My heart ached as I softly asked, “Babe, what happened?” But Colet couldn’t answer; she only cried harder.

Mikha, standing quietly nearby, asked gently, “Col-col, ano problema?” At the sound of her childhood nickname, something in Colet seemed to break, and her sobs became even louder.

Mikha, without hesitation, began massaging Colet’s scalp, the familiar gesture soothing her as it always had when they were younger. I didn’t stop Mikha, knowing she could offer Colet the comfort she needed most in that moment.

The rest of us could only watch, helpless, as Colet clung to the simple comfort of her childhood friend, her tears pouring out in waves.

She started apologizing again and again, each word heavy with guilt, but none of us really understood what she was apologizing for. Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “Hindi ko sinasadya… ginawa ko lang naman lahat ng yun para kay Jho…” Her words were barely audible as she choked on her tears, muffling the explanation. We couldn’t understand her at first, as she repeated herself over and over, her sobs drowning out the clarity of what she was trying to say.

With a strained breath, she tried again, speaking more clearly, though her voice cracked with emotion. “Yung pangalan ng doktor, kung sino kumuha kay Jho, hindi ko kay Papa nakuha yun... Sa dark web ko yun kinuha…” Her words hit like a punch, and I felt a chill run down my spine as I tried to piece together what she meant. “Nagbayad ako ng pera… binenta ko yung iba kong shares sa company namin…” The words spilled out, raw and desperate, as if admitting something even worse than she was ready to face. Her hands were shaking, gripping the sheets as if it would anchor her to the reality of what she had done.

She paused, wiping her tears away, before continuing in a voice that trembled with fear and shame. “Nabenta din ako ng information ko…” Her eyes darted around, avoiding anyone’s gaze, as though the weight of her actions was too heavy to bear. She could hardly look at us, but there was no hiding the truth anymore.

“Yung mga lalaking nag-abang sa akin… mga taga doon yun. Pero kaya nila ako hinabol, kasi may galit sila kay Papa.” Her confession hung in the air like a storm waiting to break. The realization struck me like a wave—I couldn’t quite grasp the full extent of what she had gotten herself into. She had gone so far, entered a world she didn’t belong in, all to protect Jho, and now here we were—facing the consequences together. Her voice broke completely by the end, and I couldn’t tell if it was the guilt, the fear, or the shame that made her fall apart in front of us.

At this moment, the room felt suffocating with the weight of Colet’s confession. Every one of us was drowning in the gravity of her words. Mikha, her face pale with shock and grief, slowly withdrew her hand from Colet’s, her fingers trembling as they fell limp at her sides. She kept her head down, trying to fight back the sobs that shook her entire body. It was like the foundation of everything we believed had cracked, and we were all left standing in the rubble, unsure of how to pick up the pieces.

Sheena couldn’t take it anymore. She collapsed into Colet’s shoulder, her body shaking with quiet sobs. “Ate, akala ko mawawala ka na,” she whispered, her voice muffled against Colet's skin. The pain in her words was like a dagger to the heart, the thought of losing someone we loved so deeply hanging heavily between us. It was as though Sheena’s fear was too much to bear, too much to even speak aloud.

Gwen stood frozen at the edge of the room, her eyes downcast, barely able to bring herself closer. She was so still it was as though she was afraid any movement would cause more harm. The emotional distance between her and Colet was almost tangible, like a wall that had been built in an instant, leaving her trapped in her own sorrow.

Stacey who had finally sat down at the foot of Colet’s bed. Like she was tired from everything.

And then there was Jho. She sat in Colet’s lap, completely unaware of the turmoil that was unfolding around her. Her tiny hands played with Colet’s fingers, blissfully innocent, her giggles in stark contrast to the tears and anger that had flooded the room. How could she know? How could she understand the weight of the world that was crashing down on all of us?

And then, the unthinkable happened. Aiah, who had always been the calm, rational one—our emotional anchor when everything else spiraled out of control—finally spoke. Her voice, though quiet, carried a sharpness we had never heard before. “Kailan ka ba aayos, Colet?” she asked, her words biting like cold steel. The tension in the room rose immediately, and I could see Colet’s body stiffen as though she had been slapped, the sting of Aiah’s words cutting deeper than any of us could have imagined. Colet blinked, surprised by the harshness in Aiah’s tone, but when she finally spoke, it was like a quiet plea, a desperation that none of us had expected. “Ate, para kay Jho yun!” she cried, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she had kept hidden.

Aiah didn't respond immediately. She turned to Mikha, her eyes pleading for support. "Miks, wala bang magagawa papa mo? Sige na, para naman kay Colet 'to," she asked softly, desperation creeping into her voice. Mikha, unsure but willing, looked down, and the weight of the moment hung heavy in the room. Colet, sensing the shift, protested, her voice shaky but firm. But Aiah, for the first time in a long while, snapped.

"Colet, ang dami ko nang pinalampas na ginagawa mo! Ni hindi nga kita pinapakeelaman pagdating sa college, 'di ba?" she said, her voice rising with emotion. "Hindi kita pinagsasabihan kahit hindi ka pumapasok, hindi kita pinagsasabihan kahit sinisira mo na ang kinabukasan mo, kasi iniintindi kita! Pero ganito? Ipasok mo sarili mo sa ganitong kapahamakan?"

The words cut through the room like a knife, raw and painful. Aiah paused, trying to control the fury and hurt flooding her chest. "Tangina, Colet! Alam mo ba kung anong naramdaman ko? Kung anong naramdaman namin?" she cried, her voice breaking. "Alam kong kaya mong gawin 'yan para kay Jho, para sa amin, pero wag yung ganito! Mamatay ka! Hindi lang naman si Jho yung mahal namin, pati ikaw! Ikaw, mahal ka namin!"

Her words were a desperate plea, a raw outburst of fear and love, and the room fell silent, the weight of her confession settling on all of us. Everyone felt it—the pain, the worry, the realization of how much Colet's actions had affected all of us, how deeply we cared, and how scared we were.

The silence that followed was deafening. Colet, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and guilt, stared after Aiah. The words hung in the air, unanswered, heavy with the truth. "Paano pag nawala ka?" Aiah’s question echoed, lingering in Colet’s mind. What if she wasn’t here tomorrow? What if her choices had led her down a path from which there was no return?

The tension in the room was palpable, and Colet’s hand tightened on the edge of the bed. She didn’t know what to say, how to answer. The guilt was suffocating. The realization that her actions, no matter how well-intended, had put her life and everyone else’s at risk, was too much to bear.

And then, without another word, Aiah stormed out of the room, Mikha silently following behind her. The door clicked shut, and the room felt emptier, colder.

Chapter Text

MALOI

The next day arrived, but Aiah and Mikha still hadn’t returned. Their absence felt heavier with each passing hour, an unspoken weight pressing down on all of us. Were they angry? Upset? Hurt? Maybe they felt everything at once, the same way we did—the same way I did. The silence they left behind echoed louder than any words they could have said.

And truthfully, I couldn’t blame them. What Colet had done, what she had been through—it was too much. Too painful. Too terrifying. A part of me wanted to run, too. To step outside, to escape, to let the crushing emotions settle somewhere else, anywhere else. But I stayed. Because if I left, if I walked away now, I knew Colet would shatter. And I couldn’t let that happen. Not when she was already holding on by a thread. Not when she needed me to stay.

Right now, with the weight of everything pressing down on us, the only thing keeping us afloat was Jho—her laughter, her innocence, the way she played as if the world hadn’t just crumbled around us. She was our light, the only thing keeping the darkness from swallowing us whole.

Strangely, Dr. Suiren had managed to bring in a black cat, a quiet little creature meant to distract Jhoanna. Since yesterday, she had refused to be away from Colet, clinging to her like a lifeline, making it nearly impossible for the doctor to check on her condition. And though Colet would never admit it, I knew Jho’s weight pressing against her, her tiny hands grabbing onto every bruised part of her body, must have hurt like hell.

But now, thanks to this cat—how Dr. Suiren got approval for it, I had no idea—Jho finally had something else to focus on. For the first time in hours, Colet could breathe, even if just a little.

"Ling Ling!" Jhoanna called out, her little voice full of excitement. I hadn't even realized the cat had a name already. The small black feline darted away, and Jho immediately chased after it, her laughter ringing through the room like a melody we all desperately needed.

What made it even funnier was the way Stacey hurried after Jho, carefully maneuvering her IV stand to keep up with the energetic child. And then there was Sheena, who, for some reason, had also joined in on the chase, giggling like a kid herself. It was a ridiculous sight—Stacey looking like an exhausted babysitter chasing after not one, but two children, while the cat, completely unbothered, continued its game of escape.

The funniest part? The cat seemed to have taken a liking to Gwen. No matter how much Jho and Sheena tried to catch it, it kept running back to her, curling around her legs, almost teasing them. Gwen, lounging comfortably on the couch, simply watched the chaos unfold with an amused smirk, shaking her head as if to say, What have I gotten myself into?

For the first time in what felt like forever, the room was filled with warmth, with something that wasn’t pain or grief. It was just this—laughter, movement, life. And for now, that was enough.

While I held Colet close, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, I felt a strange sense of peace. For now, just having her here—alive—was enough. She was watching everything unfold, the corners of her lips twitching at Jho’s antics, but I could feel the exhaustion in the way she leaned into me.

I looked up at her, taking in her bruised face, the purple and blue hues stark against her soft features. And yet, even with all the marks, she was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “Bagay din pala sa’yo may pasa,” I murmured, a teasing lilt in my voice. “Pogi ka pa rin.”

She glanced down at me, smiling despite herself. “Araw-araw na lang ako magpa-bugbog niyan,” she joked, letting out a small laugh.

I almost smacked her arm out of habit, but at the last second, I stopped, remembering her injuries. Instead, I lowered my hand, tracing soft circles on her back, committing this moment to memory—her laugh, her warmth, the way she still found humor despite everything.

And then, quieter, almost afraid to say it out loud, I admitted, “I thought I wouldn’t be able to see you laugh again.”

The atmosphere shifted. The laughter in the room still rang, but between us, something else lingered—something heavier, unspoken. A reminder of how close I had come to losing her.

Colet attempted a reassuring smile. "Babe, nobody dies from getting beat up," she said softly.

I shook my head, my voice tinged with frustration and concern. "People do, Colet. Please, don't try to comfort me like that. It was terrifying to see you like that. Maybe that's why Mikha and Aiah still aren't back."

At the mention of their names, Colet's expression faltered, a shadow of worry crossing her face. She looked at me, her eyes searching. "Do you think they're mad at me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Nobody's mad at you, Colet," I said, my voice soft but firm. "No one can stay mad at you for long, even with a bruised head. But I don't think you understand how terrifying that was for us."

She looked at me, her eyes filled with regret. "I do understand, Maloi. I know it was scary, and I'm sorry—"

I cut her off, my emotions spilling over. "No, you don't. I don't think you realize how much I love you. How much we all love you. Did you even think about yourself when you did that? You only thought about Jhoanna."

Her face fell, the weight of my words sinking in. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she leaned into me, her head resting on my shoulder, and we sat there in silence, the unspoken understanding between us louder than any words could be.

"You may not admit it, but I feel like you don’t love yourself enough to care about what you did or what will happen to you next. If you can’t love yourself, please don’t assume we feel the same. We love you deeply. And if you can't take care of yourself for your own sake, then do it for us."

Colet's eyes welled up with tears, her walls crumbling. She turned away, unable to meet my gaze, as the weight of my words settled between us. The room seemed to hold its breath, the distant laughter of Jhoanna and the others fading into nothing. In this fragile moment, the depth of our love and the fear of losing her hung in the air—unspoken, yet felt.

Suddenly, Sheena spoke up, her voice cutting through the tension in the room. She stood there, holding the cat in one hand while her other arm cradled Jho, who was reaching out with tiny hands, trying to grab the cat’s fur. Sheena’s usual playful expression was replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

"Totoo yun, Ate Colet," she said, her voice quivering slightly as she glanced down at Jho, his small hands still reaching out, unaware of the weight of the moment. "Alam kong madalas inaasar kita, pero... nung nakita kitang ganon? Hindi ko alam, hindi ko alam kung anong mararamdaman ko kung bigla ka nawala, nang ganon-ganon lang."

Her words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. There was a tremble in her voice, a mix of concern and fear that echoed through the silence that had settled between us. The playful teasing was gone, replaced by the unspoken truth of how deeply we all cared for her, how much her presence meant to all of us.

And then, suddenly, Stacey’s composure cracked. She let out a sob, the sound raw and unrestrained. We all turned to her, the room heavy with the unexpected shift in emotion. The atmosphere was thick with sadness, though it seemed there was no real reason to cry—everything felt so... out of place. We exchanged looks, unsure of how to react. It was almost absurd, and for a brief moment, we all wanted to laugh at how unexpected her tears were.

But then Stacey, still wiping away her tears, looked up at us, her face twisted with emotion. Through her sniffles, she managed to speak, her voice thick with the weight of her feelings.

"Kahit lagi mong inaaway 'yung pink ko," she said, her words trembling as if every syllable carried the weight of her heart. "Malulungkot ako kung mawawala ka! Tangina mo!"

Her voice was a mix of anger and love, her tears a testament to how deeply she cared. Despite her teasing and the playful battles with Colet over her precious pink item, it was clear now—she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

The words stung, not out of bitterness, but from the sheer vulnerability in them. It wasn’t just about the teasing, it was about the fear of losing someone she truly loved.

Colet, still trying to lighten the mood, turned toward Gwen with a teasing smile. “Baka ikaw may entry ka rin,” she said, her laughter ringing through the air like a small burst of relief. Gwen met her gaze and shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips in return.

"Wala," she replied, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Inubos na nung dalawang OA eh."

The lighthearted banter brought a momentary break in the tension, the laughter softening the heaviness that had settled over the room. For a fleeting second, it felt like things were almost normal again, the worry and tears giving way to the familiar comfort of their shared humor.

AIAH

It was already nightfall when we arrived at the hospital. Mikha and I spent the night at her condo, both of us still reeling from what had happened with Colet. The weight of it hung heavily on us, a cloud we couldn't shake. We couldn’t face it, not yet—not in the way we were feeling, not in that moment. We didn’t go straight to her room. Instead, we made our way up to the rooftop, the city lights flickering like distant stars.

"I’ll text Gwen where we are," I told Mikha, my voice quieter than usual. I couldn’t even bring myself to think about what lay ahead.

As we stood there in the cool night air, I noticed Mikha pull out a cigarette, her fingers tapping the pack absently. I gave her a look, the kind that said everything without needing to say a word: Don’t even think about it .

Mikha met my gaze, her eyes softening as she let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "Hindi na nga po," she said with a shrug, and without missing a beat, she tossed the cigarette aside.

The simple act of her throwing it away felt like a small release—a quiet moment of understanding between us, unspoken but felt. We both knew it wasn’t the time for that kind of escape. Not when our hearts were still tangled in everything that had happened.

We stood there in silence, the weight of everything hanging between us. Then, the quiet was broken by the soft creak of a door opening. We turned, and there she was—Colet, wheeling herself in with effort, her face betraying the strain of every movement. Even in the quiet of the night, we could feel the heaviness of the moment.

Despite the lingering upset in our hearts, we weren’t angry. Mikha and I rushed to her side without thinking, our steps quick but careful. As we got closer, we noticed the grimace on Colet’s face, the way every little pull of the wheelchair seemed to cause her pain.

Without missing a beat, Mikha was at her back, supporting her, while I walked beside the wheelchair, my hand hovering just in case. "Bakit kasi umakyat ka pa dito?" I asked, my voice soft with concern, though there was a playful undertone I couldn’t quite hide. "Ano? Masakit ba? Kulet ah."

We stopped when we reached the edge, the view of the city spread out before us, but everything else seemed to fade in that moment. It was just the three of us, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, unsure of where to go next but holding on to each other, one step at a time.

"I wanted to talk to you guys," Colet’s voice broke through the stillness, soft yet heavy with meaning. Her eyes searched us, vulnerable and uncertain.

Mikha, always the one to stand firm, took a deep breath before responding. “We’re not mad at you," she said, her voice shaky but steady, trying to hold it together for Colet. "We just... hate seeing you suffer like this.”

She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before lifting to meet Colet’s. “Col, I’ve been with you since we were kids. I saw how your dad used to beat you, how you'd show up with bruises... and I always felt so helpless when I couldn’t do anything to stop it. What do you think I felt when you arrived—beat up like a pulp? It brought everything back. Every damn thing. Especially how I couldn’t do a single thing to help you.”

Mikha’s voice cracked, and the walls she had so carefully built up began to crumble. The tears spilled over, and she couldn’t stop them. "It felt like... like I couldn’t do anything at all," she whispered, her chest heaving with the weight of her emotions.

The raw pain in Mikha’s words hung in the air, unspoken grief and guilt swirling between them. Colet, still in her wheelchair, looked at her friend, the depth of their bond evident in the way they shared this painful truth. Neither of them could undo the past, but in that moment, they understood each other more than ever.

“Mikhs,” Colet’s voice cracked as she spoke, her own tears flowing freely now, “you didn’t have to do anything at all that time. You were enough. A lot of things in my life weren’t good, things I didn’t even want to look back on. But you... you were there. You were always there. The only good thing that I can look back on. You made everything better. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

Her words, soft yet filled with a quiet strength, were like a balm to Mikha’s broken heart. The pain they both carried—the unspoken grief, the guilt, the fear—was shared now, laid bare in the rawness of their friendship. I felt a lump form in my throat as I watched, wiping away a single tear that escaped from my own eyes.

I couldn’t help but witness the bond they had, one built through years of pain and love, and it overwhelmed me. The depth of their connection was something that words couldn’t truly capture.

Slowly, Mikha sank to her knees beside Colet’s wheelchair, her sobs growing louder, more desperate. She clutched her knees tightly as if the very act of holding on to something could keep her grounded.

“I can’t lose you, Colet,” Mikha whispered through her tears, her voice breaking with the weight of her words. “I can’t lose you. Not anymore.”

The sincerity in her voice, the raw emotion, was too much to bear. I knew they both felt it—that fear of losing the one person who had been there for them, through everything.

As Mikha continued to cry, her body trembling with each sob, Colet’s gaze shifted toward me. Her eyes, filled with so much pain and regret, locked onto mine. Without a word, she reached out and gripped my hand tightly, the act speaking louder than anything else could.

"Ate..." she said, her voice small but full of emotion, and in that moment, I felt my heart shatter. I had never heard her call me Ate before. She was the second oldest in our friend group, always the one who had been strong for the rest of us, and yet now, she was looking to me, vulnerable and broken. It hit me like a wave.

The tears I had been holding back finally escaped, flowing freely as I looked at her, the weight of her words sinking in.

"Sorry, ate," Colet whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke. "Sorry, hindi ko kayo inisip. Akala ko kasi kaya ko—na baka wala naman mangyari, pero meron pa rin."

Her apology was more than just words—it was a confession, a release of everything she had been holding inside. It was the quiet surrender of someone who had been fighting a battle alone, someone who didn’t want to burden us, even though we were right there beside her. The truth of her pain, of her fears, of her guilt, poured out in that moment.

I squeezed her hand tighter, unable to say anything in return, as my own emotions took over. There was nothing I could say to make her feel better, but I knew one thing—she didn’t have to apologize for any of it. Not now. Not ever.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. Slowly, I knelt beside Colet, the weight of everything pulling me down. Gently, I placed my forehead against hers, closing my eyes for a moment as I tried to steady my breath. The cool night air felt distant now, the world around us quiet, as if everything had stopped for just a moment.

“Okay na ako, Colet,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Okay na si Ate. Basta andito ka. Basta, andito ka. Wag mo lang ulit gagawin yun."

My words were a plea, a promise. Please don’t ever put yourself through that again . But beneath it, there was something deeper, something more fragile—the simple relief that she was still here, that we still had her.

And in that moment, it was as if time stood still. All three of us were there on the rooftop, huddled together in the rawness of our emotions. We held on to each other as if our lives depended on it. The weight of everything—the pain, the fear, the love—settled between us as we clung to each other, each of us offering what little comfort we could.

We didn’t need words anymore. The hug said it all—the shared understanding, the vulnerability, the unconditional love that had always been there, even in the darkest moments.

Chapter Text

MALOI 

Flashback

When I stepped into the dormitory, the place was a disaster. Clothes were strewn across the floor, empty bottles and snack wrappers littered the furniture, and in the middle of it all—lying face-down on the hardwood—was a girl, blacked out drunk, murmuring something.

If this wasn’t my first impression of her, maybe I would’ve laughed. But this was my first impression, and all I could do was stare.

The landlady leaned in and whispered, “Sorry, iha . Ganyan talaga ’yan… pero mabait ’yan—pag tulog.” She chuckled at her own joke, but I couldn’t even force a smile. My mind was already spinning with the thought that this was who I’d be living with.

Before I could fully process my disbelief, the landlady sighed and started picking up trash, as if this was routine. I hesitated for a moment before crouching down to help.

"Ay, hindi na, hija! ” she insisted, waving me off. "Hayaan mo na, sanay na ako."

But I couldn’t just stand there, so I ignored her protests and continued picking up the mess anyway. It wasn’t exactly how I imagined my first day moving in, but at least it was a start.

And as I glanced at the unconscious girl on the floor, I wondered what kind of life I had just walked into.

I reached down, ready to take the bottle she was hugging, worried that she might accidentally hurt herself. But the moment I got close enough to see her face clearly, I froze.

She was—unexpectedly—beautiful.

Even in her drunken state, with her hair a mess and her brows slightly furrowed in whatever hazy dream she was trapped in, there was something striking about her. I had braced myself for the worst after seeing the wreckage of the dorm, but this ? I hadn't expected this.

The landlady, ever observant, clicked her tongue and smirked. " Nako, parang gusto mo na agad alaga ko, ah."

My face heated instantly. " Hindi! " I snapped, too quick, too defensive. And in an attempt to mask my reaction, I yanked the bottle from her grip, harsher than I intended.

That’s when I heard it—so faint, so fragile.

"Papa... wag..."

The word barely left her lips, slurred and weak, but the moment it did, something in my chest tightened.

I stood there, bottle in hand, staring at her as the teasing atmosphere faded into something heavier.

For the first time since stepping into this disaster of a room, I felt something other than irritation.

I felt something dangerously close to concern.

A few days had passed, and to be honest, my roommate and I still hadn’t had a proper conversation. Despite always being at home, she barely acknowledged my presence. And that’s what made me wonder— why is she always here? Doesn’t she have classes?

I had figured out she was a law student from the thick textbooks stacked on her desk. Though, judging by the layer of dust settling on them, she didn’t seem to be reading them at all.

That day, I came home from school, exhausted but more aware than usual of the familiar sight before me. There she was again, slumped on the couch, a beer in hand, looking like she hadn’t moved all day.

I don’t know what it was that bubbled up inside me—irritation? Concern? Maybe both. But before I could stop myself, the words came spilling out.

"Maglasing ka kung gusto mo! Patayin mo sarili mo kung ’yun ang trip mo! Pero anong akala mo? Hindi ko napapansin na hindi ka pumapasok?"

The words hung heavy in the air. We weren’t even close, but God, I couldn’t keep it in any longer.

She blinked at me, raising an eyebrow as if I had just said something absurd. Then, without a word, she stood up, grabbed one of her law books from the desk, and thrust it into my hands.

I hesitated, gripping the thick volume, completely lost.

What the hell was happening?

She slumped back onto the couch, stretching out lazily as if nothing had just happened. Then, without looking at me, she muttered, “Buksan mo ’yan. Tanungin mo ko ng kahit ano.”

I hesitated for a moment, then flipped open the thick book in my hands. The text was dense, filled with legal jargon that made my head hurt just looking at it. I skimmed through the pages until I landed on something that seemed complicated enough to trip her up. Clearing my throat, I read it aloud, stuttering slightly over the unfamiliar words.

"Article 11... Justifying circumstances—uh, a person... shall not incur criminal liability when—"

Before I could even finish, she cut in smoothly.

"When the person acts in self-defense, in defense of relatives, or in defense of a stranger, provided that there is unlawful aggression, reasonable necessity of the means employed, and lack of sufficient provocation on the part of the person defending themselves."

She continued, her voice steady, almost bored, as if she wasn’t reciting word-for-word from memory but merely stating something obvious.

"Or, take Article 247, for example—Death or physical injuries under exceptional circumstances. If a spouse surprises their partner in the act of sexual intercourse with another person and, in the heat of passion, kills or inflicts serious harm on either party, the penalty is destierro—banishment, not imprisonment. Meaning, legally, it's a crime, but the law acknowledges the extreme emotions involved."

I just stood there, mouth slightly open.

She stretched out, raising her beer bottle like a toast. “So? Pwede na ba ’kong uminom ulit?”

I should’ve been irritated. Maybe I was . But beneath all of that, one thought nagged at me, undeniable and frustrating.

Why the hell was that so impressive?

As the days passed, I began to understand her—just a little. Maybe she wasn’t lazy. Maybe she hadn’t given up. Maybe she had just lost the motivation to keep going. But one thing I knew for sure? She was brilliant. That moment alone had been enough to prove it to me.

So, every morning, I made sure to cook her breakfast. I never said anything about it, never asked her to eat, never pushed her. Instead, I left little notes beside the plate:

"Hindi ka pasok?"
"Sabay ka sa akin?"
"Pasok ka na, pls."

It was a silent effort, one that she never acknowledged. Not once did she say thank you or even joke about it. But she ate the food. That was enough for me.

Until one morning, I couldn't do it.

I was sick—fever burning under my skin, limbs too heavy to move. The world around me felt distant, hazy, and for the first time in weeks, there was no plate waiting for her, no note left on the table.

I figured she wouldn’t even notice. She had never reacted before.

Then I heard the door creak open.

"Maloi?"

I stilled.

That was my name.

From her lips.

I didn’t even know she knew it. And yet, there she was, standing in the doorway, saying it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Something about the way she said it made my breath hitch.

Then, after a moment of silence, her voice came again—soft, almost expectant.

"Wala pagkain?"

A simple question. A throwaway remark. And yet, at that moment, I wanted to curse myself for getting sick.

Because the way she said it—so casual, so genuine —sent something warm and aching straight to my chest.

"May sakit ako. Bukas na lang," I muttered, trying to sound unaffected.

She didn’t say anything at first, but then she walked closer. I felt the bed dip slightly as she leaned down, her hand reaching out hesitantly to press against my forehead.

"Hala, ang init mo," she murmured, her voice laced with concern.

I tried to lighten the mood, forcing a smirk. "Hot kasi ako."

She didn’t react. No teasing comeback, no amused scoff—just a small scratch on the back of her head, like she was thinking.

Then, to my absolute bewilderment, she picked up her phone and started typing. From where I lay, I could see the screen.

She was Googling how to take care of a sick person.

If I weren’t feeling like absolute crap, I probably would’ve laughed.

The next thing I knew, she had disappeared from the room. I barely had the energy to wonder where she went when she returned, pressing a damp cloth gently against my forehead. The coolness made me sigh in relief.

As she adjusted it carefully, she hesitated before asking, "Are you feeling better? I'm sorry… hindi ako marunong."

She looked adorable then—her brows slightly furrowed, lips pursed in concentration, as if she was worried she’d done something wrong.

I should’ve teased her for it. I should’ve laughed and made a joke out of how awkward she looked.

But all I could do was stare, warmth blooming in my chest for a reason that had nothing to do with my fever.

I reached out, my fingers brushing against her hand.

She flinched.

For a second, I regretted it—felt the urge to pull away, to pretend I hadn’t done it. But I didn’t. I let my touch linger, just enough to reassure her. Because even though I was the one who was sick, I couldn’t ignore the way she looked—uncertain, nervous, like she didn’t trust herself to be doing this right.

"It’s okay," I murmured, my voice softer now. "You’re doing great."

I felt her relax. The tension in her shoulders eased just slightly, her breath coming out in something close to a sigh.

Slowly, she pulled her hand away, almost as if she wasn’t sure whether to let go or not. Then, clearing her throat, she mumbled, "Gawa ako soup… kaso ’di masarap ah."

I almost smiled. Almost.

Because something about this—about her —was making my heart ache in a way I wasn’t ready to understand yet.

A few days had passed, and I was finally feeling better.

That morning, I woke up earlier than usual, slipping out of bed with a newfound energy. It was my turn to take care of Colet. She had looked after me these past few days, and I didn’t know how to feel about that—grateful? Embarrassed? Something else entirely?

Shaking off the thought, I focused on the kitchen, trying to decide what to cook for breakfast. Should I make something simple? Or should I put in extra effort as a thank-you?

But then, something made me pause.

The sound of running water.

I frowned, glancing toward the bathroom. The shower was on.

My eyes darted to the couch—empty.

Colet was nowhere in sight.

For a split second, my half-awake brain jumped to the most irrational conclusion: A burglar broke in, took a shower, and stole my roommate.

I was just about to grab something to defend myself when the bathroom door swung open.

A wave of steam curled into the air, and then—

There she was.

Fresh out of the shower, towel draped over her shoulders, hair damp and sticking messily to her skin. Her shirt clung slightly from the humidity, and she was rubbing her neck, oblivious to my presence.

I should’ve looked away. I should’ve.

But I didn’t.

Because right then, with the morning light casting a soft glow around her, Colet looked different. Not like the girl who drank herself into oblivion. Not like the careless, reckless roommate I first met.

She just looked real. And for some reason, that realization made my heart trip over itself.

I hesitated for a moment before asking the question lingering in my mind.

"San ka punta?"

She didn’t even pause as she answered, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Sama sa’yo sa school."

I blinked, caught off guard. She had never gone with me before. She barely even acknowledged my daily attempts to get her to attend class. And yet, here she was, saying it so casually, like it was already decided.

Before I could even process it, she stepped into the kitchen, moving beside me.

"Ano lutuin natin?"

I froze.

We?

She wanted to cook with me ?

I struggled to gather my thoughts, my brain short-circuiting over something as simple as her willingness to be here—to do this with me.

Swallowing, I asked, "Ano ba gusto mo?"

She turned to me then, her face softening into something I wasn’t prepared for. And with a small, genuine smile, she answered—

"Kahit ano, basta gawa mo."

And just like that, my heart wasn’t mine anymore.

The days blurred together, slipping through my fingers like sand. I couldn't think straight anymore—not with Colet being so… so lovable. And so beautiful.

It was messing with me. The way she existed so effortlessly, the way she somehow became the one thing I couldn’t ignore.

Today, we came home together, walking side by side as I ranted about my insufferable groupmate. I was mid-sentence, fully caught up in my irritation, when suddenly—

"Ate Colet!"

A group of kids ran toward her, their small voices filled with excitement.

They weren’t clean. Their clothes were worn, their faces smudged with dust. These were street kids—ones most people would ignore, ones society had failed over and over again.

But not Colet.

Without hesitation, she reached into her bag and handed them the food she had bought earlier. No second thoughts. No waiting for a thank you. Just a simple, quiet act of kindness, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I don’t know what happened to me in that moment.

I knew my heart wasn’t mine anymore. I had already lost it to her, somewhere between her drunken murmurs and her awkward attempts at taking care of me.

But this— this felt different.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just that she had taken my heart.

It felt like she was giving it back to me.

But this time, with her hand in it.

I was in the dorm with Kael—the same annoying guy I had ranted to Colet about. We were alone, but I wasn’t worried. I had texted Colet earlier to let her know I had someone over since her classes were running late.

My heart leaped when she replied, asking, "Anong gusto mong kainin?"

God, I was so hopeless. So head over heels for her in every little thing she did.

Trying to shake off the ridiculous grin threatening to form on my lips, I focused on letting Kael work on his part of the project. He had his laptop open, typing away, while I excused myself to use the bathroom.

When I came out, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Kael was standing by the door.

Leaning.

Something about it felt wrong .

"May kailangan ka?" I asked, my voice wary.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped forward, shoving past me like he owned the space. Before I could react, he muttered—

"Ikaw."

Then, in one swift motion, he grabbed both of my hands. Tightly.

Panic shot through me.

I opened my mouth to scream, but he was faster—his other hand covered it before a sound could escape.

My pulse pounded. My stomach twisted in fear.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered—

"Don’t worry. This will be good."

Just as his breath ghosted over my neck, just as the fear in my chest turned ice-cold, he was ripped away from me.

A blur of movement. A dull thud as his body hit the floor.

I stumbled back, gasping, my vision hazy with panic and disbelief.

Then I saw her.

Colet.

She was on top of him, fists swinging, eyes burning with a rage so raw it sent a shiver down my spine.

"Putangina mo," she spat between punches, her voice sharp, shaking, filled with something deeper than just anger—something feral.

Kael groaned beneath her, trying to shield himself, but she didn’t stop.

She wasn’t stopping.

Each hit landed with the force of something she had been holding back for far too long .

I could only stand there, watching—watching the way her body trembled, watching the way her knuckles met his skin over and over again, watching the way she looked at him like he was nothing but filth beneath her shoes.

Then I realized—

She was shaking because she was furious. But she was furious because she was afraid.

For me.

The thought sent a fresh wave of emotions crashing over me.

I moved without thinking, my hands finding her waist, pulling her back.

"Col, tama na." My voice cracked. I didn’t even realize I was crying.

She stiffened at my touch. Her fists clenched in the air, frozen, as if she was deciding whether or not to throw another punch.

Then, finally, with a sharp inhale, she let go.

She stood up, breath heavy, chest rising and falling, her hands shaking at her sides. Her entire body screamed restraint.

Kael, barely able to lift himself, coughed and groaned, dragging himself up with whatever strength he had left.

Colet turned to him, her gaze dark, her voice colder than I had ever heard it.

"Wag na wag ka nang babalik dito."

Kael barely managed to stand.

"Wag na wag ka na rin magpakita sa’kin."

And just like that, he ran.

I didn’t watch him go. I couldn’t. Because Colet was turning to me now.

Her eyes softened instantly, as if the fire inside her had been extinguished the moment she looked at me.

She reached out, hesitant, fingertips brushing my cheek so gently —like she was afraid I would break .

Like she was afraid I would disappear.

Like she was afraid I would run away.

But I would never run away from her.

Not now.

Not ever.

"Okay ka lang, Loi?"

My name in her voice, the way she said it—soft, careful, like she was trying to hold me together—it shattered the last piece of control I had.

I collapsed against her, my hands gripping the fabric of her shirt, and I let myself fall apart in her arms.

The next day, the bastard had the audacity to show up.

Smirking.

Like he was taunting me.

Like he was planning to do it all over again.

And what was worse—I had to endure it.

I gritted my teeth every time I saw him, forced myself to look away, forced myself to act like he didn’t exist. But inside, I was seething .

Inside, I was terrified .

Because what if he tried again? What if next time, there was no one there to stop him?

But then, one day, he walked into the room—

Or rather, stumbled in.

His face was swollen, bruises painting his skin in shades of red and purple. Dried blood clung to the corner of his lips, his eye barely open. He could barely walk .

Everyone fell silent.

His usual arrogance was gone. There was no smirk, no cocky glint in his eyes. Just pain . Just defeat .

"I—I'm leaving," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Got expelled."

Murmurs broke out in the room. Shocked whispers. But I just stood there, frozen, watching as he dragged his body closer.

And for a second—just a split second—I thought he was about to do something.

Even in his broken state, I felt my heart jump in fear.

But then, he just looked at me.

And said, "Sorry."

It was quiet. Almost reluctant. But it was there.

And behind those words, behind the mess of his beaten-up face—

I saw it.

Fear.

Not mine.

His.

And I knew, instantly , without question—

Colet did this.

I came home that day, my thoughts tangled in a mess I couldn't quite unravel.

What Colet did—what she must have done—left something heavy in my chest.

Relief? Maybe.

Guilt? Definitely.

But there was something else, something dangerous.

Admiration.

I shouldn’t have felt that way, but the image of him—broken, bloodied, barely standing—flashed in my mind. The way his eyes had darted around in fear, the way he could barely meet mine when he said sorry.

I knew it then.

Colet had done that to him.

And a part of me, a part I wasn’t ready to face, felt safe because of it.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair before pushing open the dorm door—

Only to be met with another shock.

Colet.

In the kitchen.

Cooking.

Or at least trying to.

Smoke curled up from the pan, the edges of whatever she was making already too dark, threatening to burn. But she didn’t seem to care. She was happy, her body swaying slightly, humming some tune under her breath. She had that stupid, carefree smile on her face, one I rarely saw, but every time I did, it made my chest feel... light.

I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

Before I could stop myself, I walked over to her and wrapped my arms around her from behind, pressing my forehead lightly against her shoulder.

"You didn’t have to do that," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "But... thank you."

She stilled for a second, then turned around, her eyes locking onto mine.

Soft.

Warm.

And then, she lifted a hand, cupping my face like I was fragile, like I was something she needed to handle carefully.

"I would do it all over again if I had to," she said, firm, unwavering. "He deserved it."

And then—she smirked.

"Buti na lang pogi ang taga-sagip mo."

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head, but she wasn’t done.

"Buti na lang kurakot tatay ko at nagagawa niya yan."

Both of us laughed, the sound ringing through the small kitchen, warm and familiar. For a second, it felt like nothing had changed, like the world outside didn’t exist—just us, just this.

But then the laughter faded, slipping through the cracks of the moment like sand through my fingers.

The room fell quiet.

And suddenly, I could feel it— her.

The weight of her presence, the way her eyes held mine, something unspoken passing between us, heavy and fragile all at once. My breath caught in my throat. My pulse stammered, unsure whether to speed up or stop altogether.

And then— we moved.

Not by much.

Just enough.

Her lips were inches from mine, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off of her, close enough that if I tilted forward just slightly—just a breath—we would meet.

My heart was a thunderstorm inside my chest.

A wild, restless ocean, waves surging forward—toward the shore, toward her.

Closer.

Almost.

Almost.

But then—

She hesitated.

A flicker of something in her eyes. Something uncertain. Something that made my breath hitch in my throat as she pulled away—slowly, carefully, as if retreating from the edge of something too deep, too vast.

And just like that, the ocean never touched the sand.

She turned away, her face unreadable, and I was left standing there, still reaching, still drowning in the silence she left behind.

The ocean had stilled.

But beneath its surface, a quiet sorrow lingered.

A few weeks had passed since everything had happened. For a while, it felt like there was a weight lifted off my shoulders. Kael was gone—his presence no longer looming in the background, his smirk no longer haunting me. For that moment, at least, I had felt a sense of safety, of peace.

But that peace didn’t last long.

Colet, the girl who had once fought for me, who had stood by me through everything—was gone too. Not physically, but emotionally. It was like she had shut herself away in some dark corner of her mind, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't reach her. She was back to her old ways, drowning herself in alcohol to escape whatever pain she was carrying. The girl who once seemed so full of life, so full of warmth, was now just a hollow version of herself.

I tried talking to her, but it was like I was speaking to a wall. She was building up her defenses again, and every time I tried to break through, I only ended up getting more lost in the distance between us. It hurt, more than I cared to admit.

It was late, 1 AM, and the rain pounded against the window with relentless fury. I sat there, watching the drops slide down the glass, my mind racing. Colet wasn’t home. I didn’t know where she was, but I couldn’t shake this sick feeling in my stomach. Where was she? Was she okay? The questions kept swirling, mixing with the sound of the storm outside.

I tried calling her, over and over again. No answer. Nothing.

I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her right now. I should have been studying for the exams that were looming over me, but every part of me was pulled toward the thought of her . That girl who had left me standing there, alone, when we were so close. That girl who I wanted to be with but couldn't reach, no matter how hard I tried.

And then, the phone rang. My heart skipped a beat, hope rising in my chest like a wave. But when I picked up, it wasn’t her voice.

Instead, it was a stranger’s, a voice filled with urgency and concern.

“Kaibigan ka ba nito?” he asked, his voice shaky, almost frantic. “Pwede bang pasundo? Nasa shoti kami, pasundo na siya, sobrang lasing na.”

My stomach twisted. I could hear the background noise—the sound of Colet’s drunken murmurs, her laughter, and the chaos that seemed to surround her. She was so far gone . I could feel my chest tightening, a knot of fear and frustration gnawing at me. She had done this again—pushed everyone away, fallen back into old habits, and I was left helpless.

All I could think was how she needed me. How she had always been the one I needed, but now—now I was the one who had to be there for her.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding as I made a decision. I’m not leaving her like this. Not this time. Not when it felt like I was losing her for good.

“I’m on my way,” I said, my voice steady even though my heart was racing.

I just hoped that when I got there, I would find her. I would find the girl I knew, the one behind the walls she’d built. Because despite everything, despite the pain and the confusion, I still loved her.

When I arrived, the storm still raging around me, I could barely focus on the rain and the chill that seeped into my bones. I didn’t care about any of it. All I cared about was getting to her. I’d taken the first Grab I could find, my heart hammering against my ribcage with each passing second. All I could think about was how she might be, how lost she must have felt.

I found her quickly—just as I expected, in the worst possible state. There she was, leaning heavily on some guy, clearly out of it, swaying slightly in the rain. He was holding her up by the shoulders, his body supporting hers. I hated the sight of it.

I rushed toward them, an umbrella in my hand, my steps quick but my heart beating slowly—almost painfully—as I neared her. When she saw me, it was like everything else in the world faded away. She didn’t hesitate for a second. Without any warning, she threw herself at me. The weight of her body pressed against mine, and I could smell the mix of cigarettes and alcohol on her, that familiar, dizzying scent. And even though I knew I should be angry or frustrated, even though I knew she was falling apart in front of me, I couldn’t help but feel something else.

It was strange, the way she smelled. It shouldn’t have been appealing, yet the smell of her mixed-up state, the wildness of it, made my heart flutter in a way I couldn’t explain.

“Loi, ikaw ba ‘yan?” she asked, her voice slurring, her eyes barely focused on me. Her gaze was hazy, her words fumbling over each other, but somehow still so her . I nodded, trying to steady myself as the umbrella barely protected us both from the downpour.

As I held her, my heart was racing—out of fear, out of anger, and maybe even... out of longing? It made no sense, but there she was, in my arms, vulnerable and broken.

The guy, who’d been helping her, looked at me and then back at her, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ikaw pala ‘yun. Kanina ka pa niya hinahanap. Nabwisit na nga yun nilalaplap niya kanina sa loob, kasi puro daw Loi tawag.” His voice was amused, but there was no malice in it. He seemed to think this was just another day for Colet, another night of drunken antics. He shrugged, obviously indifferent to the whole thing.

I couldn’t blame him. He had no idea what it was like to love her, to feel the weight of seeing her fall apart like this. He didn’t know how much I cared, how much I feared for her.

“Thank you,” I said to him, my voice stiff, my eyes not leaving Colet. He nodded and turned to leave, disappearing into the rain as quickly as he’d appeared.

Now, it was just the two of us, alone.

Colet’s body sagged against mine, her head resting against my chest, and the dampness of the rain and her intoxication only made the moment feel even heavier. I could feel the tremble in her body, the way she wasn’t quite in control of herself, and it hurt me more than I wanted to admit.

I adjusted the umbrella to keep her protected, my arms holding her tighter, my heart aching with every passing second. I couldn’t get rid of the storm inside me—the one that raged as loudly as the rain outside. But right now, all I needed to do was keep her close.

"Loi..." she murmured again, her voice softer this time, almost like a plea. I could feel her breath against my chest, her body slowly relaxing in my arms.

"I'm here," I whispered, my voice barely a breath. "I’m right here, Colet."

And I meant it.

I was just about to call a taxi, desperate to get her out of the rain, when suddenly, Colet ripped the umbrella out of my hands. She threw it aside, exposing both of us to the downpour, and I felt my anger flare up. I could already imagine how sick she’d be tomorrow. The cold would settle into her bones and make everything worse. "Colet, what the hell are you doing?" I screamed, my voice shaking with frustration.

But she didn't answer. Instead, she stumbled over to a nearby pole, her body leaning against it as she seemed to collapse inward. I tried to pull her back to me, to shield her from the rain, but she resisted, pushing me away. The rejection hit me harder than I expected, and my chest tightened, like I couldn't breathe. It hurt. It hurt more than I was ready to admit.

"Colet, please," I begged, my voice barely above a whisper. "Don't do this."

And then she spoke, her voice cracking, barely audible over the sound of the storm.

"Maloi, hindi ko kaya... Hindi ko pala kaya," she whispered, her words hitting me like a tidal wave. "Hindi ko pala kaya na hindi ko nakikita ‘yung mga mata mo. Hindi ko kaya na hindi nakikita ‘yung mga ngiti mo. ‘Yung mukha mo, ‘yung mga luto mo… Hindi ko kaya ng wala ka. Hindi ko alam kung kailan naging ganon, pero naging ganon."

Her words cut through me, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. She sank down to her knees, her arms wrapped around them like a child, crying in the rain. The storm raged on, but the rain falling from her eyes seemed to match my own broken heart.

I sat beside her, my body drenched, my heart feeling like it was being torn apart. We looked ridiculous—two people sitting in the pouring rain, both of us soaked and shivering, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

"Colet..." I whispered softly, my voice thick with emotion. "Si Maloi lang ‘to. Kung iniisip mong hindi kita gusto, doon ka nagkakamali, kasi mas gusto pa kita sa gusto."

My words hung in the air for a moment, and for a second, she was still. Her body stopped shaking, and I could see her eyes, swollen from crying but full of something deeper now. She turned to face me, her expression softening as she looked at me under the rain. She was beautiful, even with all the pain, even with everything we had been through.

But then she spoke again, and the insecurity in her voice broke my heart.

"Hindi," she said quietly, her eyes searching mine. "Walang dahilan para magustuhan mo ‘ko. Matalino ka, bobo ako. Masayahin ka, malungkutin ako..."

I didn’t let her finish. I couldn’t. The weight of her words, the self-doubt that hung over her like a cloud, it hurt me more than anything else. So, I cut her off before she could go any further.

"Exactly the reason why I love you," I said, my voice firm, my chest full of everything I felt. "You’re everything I’m not. You complete me, Colet. Don’t you see? All the things you think make you unworthy are the very things that make me love you more."

And then, slowly—finally—her lips found mine.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative. But it didn’t take long before everything else disappeared. The rain, the world, the fears—all of it fell away. The ocean, the storm of emotions we both carried, finally found its shore. The kiss deepened, a quiet surrender.

In that moment, it wasn’t just the rain that washed over us. It was something else entirely—something pure. Something we both needed.

The ocean had finally met the sand. And we were no longer afraid.

“That’s the situation,” I admitted, my voice steady but my heart feeling anything but. “I don’t need you to step in when it comes to Jhoanna, but if you can help, we’d be grateful. What I really need… is for someone to help Colet.” I exhaled, my hands clenching as I forced myself to say the next part. “Gwen told me things like that—the dark web—it doesn’t just disappear. I’m scared it’ll come back for her.”

I was being honest, laying everything out in front of Dr. Suiren. The girls didn’t know I had come to him. At first, I wasn’t sure if he was someone I could trust. I doubted him, questioned if he could really do any good. But in the end, he helped Colet when she needed it most. And without him… she might not be here at all.

We sat in the hospital garden, wrapped in the hush of the evening. The air was still, heavy with the scent of earth and faint traces of hospital antiseptic. There weren’t many flowers—just patches of overgrown grass, weeds creeping up through the cracks. But here and there, scattered among them, were small blooms, barely noticeable yet stubbornly thriving.

It reminded me of hope. That even in all this mess, in all the overgrown darkness of our lives, something could still bloom.

“What makes you trust me?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—curiosity laced with something unreadable. “You do realize that’s a pretty big revelation. An adult turning into a child again? I could’ve easily been someone who wouldn’t believe you.”

I met his gaze. “But do you believe me?”

He held my stare for a moment before answering. “I do. I do believe you.” His voice softened, but there was something weighty behind his words. “The world… especially people like us… we tend to go crazy when we want something badly enough.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and unspoken. Then, after a moment, he asked, “Aren’t you mad at the child?”

I didn’t answer right away. I knew who he was referring to—Jhoanna. I inhaled deeply, steadying the ache that suddenly pressed against my ribs. Finally, I spoke.

“Jhoanna might have been the cause of all of this. The reason we cried, the reason we suffered, the reason we had to face pain and danger. But…” I swallowed, my throat tightening. “She was also the cause of our smiles. Our hope. Every good thing in our world.”

I blinked back tears as a memory surfaced—clear and vivid, like a film playing in my mind. The day I lost my dog. The way my hands shook as I called Jhoanna, and only Jhoanna, because I didn’t want to bother anyone. Not Colet, not anyone else.

It was raining hard that day. The streets were slick, and the sky was gray and angry. I told her she didn’t have to go, that it was just a dog, that I would find it myself. But Jhoanna didn’t listen. She ran through the rain without hesitation, vanishing into the downpour. And when she came back—soaked to the bone, shivering, her breath heavy from running—she had my dog in her arms and the brightest smile on her face.

I wiped at my eyes, my voice breaking as I whispered, “If the positions were switched, Jhoanna would’ve done everything for us. I just know she would.”

And I believed that with every piece of me.

I hesitated for a moment before asking, my voice careful, almost a whisper.

“About your child… is she gone?”

Dr. Suiren’s gaze drifted into the distance, his expression unreadable, lost somewhere I couldn’t follow. For a long moment, he didn’t answer, as if weighing whether to speak at all. Then, finally, his voice came—low and steady, but filled with something heavy, something raw.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I’ll do anything to get her back.”

His fingers curled into a tight fist, knuckles turning white. The tension in his jaw sharpened, a quiet storm brewing inside him. Whatever haunted him, whatever loss he carried—it was carved deep, etched into his very being.

Without another word, he stood up abruptly, ending our conversation as if he could no longer bear to linger on the subject.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, his tone final, like a promise he had already made to himself long ago. Then, as if switching gears entirely, he added, “About the dark web thing, take care on your way home.”

And then, for the first time, he smiled.

The jagged scar on his face stretched with the movement, widening like a reminder of something broken, something survived. But for once, it didn’t look menacing. It looked... soft. Human.

I regretted it then—leaving it unspoken, leaving it hanging in the air.

I should have asked about the scar.

I stood there for a moment after Dr. Suiren disappeared down the hallway, letting his words settle in my chest like a quiet hum of something unfinished. Then, shaking off the weight of the conversation, I turned and made my way back to the room.

Inside, the girls were already preparing to leave.

It had been weeks—weeks of hospitals and worry, of whispered prayers and restless nights. But finally, Colet and Jhoanna were well enough to go home. The air in the room was lighter now, filled with the rustling of bags and the soft chatter of voices that felt like home.

I stood in the doorway and let myself take it all in.

Mikha was helping Aiah pack Jho’s clothes, their hands brushing every now and then—subtle, unspoken, but undeniably something more. Across the room, Sheena and Stacey were teasing Jho, their laughter bubbling between them like old times. Jho, who had been through so much, just held onto the cat the doctor had let her keep, despite the fact that it clearly didn’t like her. But she didn’t seem to mind—her fingers gently combing through its fur, her smile soft.

And Gwen—ever the perfectionist—was cleaning the room, making sure not a single thing was left behind, as if tidying up the chaos of the past few weeks.

Then there was Colet.

She stood by her bed, stuffing clothes into her bag, her movements steady but unhurried. The bandages on her arms and around her ribs were still visible, stark against her skin. But somehow, they only made her look... cool. Resilient. Alive.

She must have felt me staring because she looked up, meeting my eyes with that effortless confidence that always left me breathless.

“San ka pumunta, love?” she asked, her voice warm, teasing, as she walked toward me.

And then, without hesitation, she leaned in and kissed my forehead. A simple gesture, yet it sent my heart into a freefall.

“Dyan dyan lang,” I answered, trying to play it off.

She narrowed her eyes with playful suspicion. “Sa kabit mo?”

I laughed, shaking my head, my chest aching with something too big to name.

I looked around the room again—at the people I loved, at the life we were stepping back into. After everything, after all the darkness, we were here. Together.

And for the first time in a long time, I believed it.

Everything would be okay.

Everything would be.

Chapter Text

The girls stood in front of the hospital, the cold air of the evening brushing against their skin, but none of them seemed to mind. They were too caught up in the feeling—the overwhelming relief of finally leaving this place behind. Of knowing that both Colet and Jhoanna were okay.

For weeks, they had held their breaths, clinging to hope like it was the only thing keeping them afloat. And now, as they stood there together, watching the city lights flicker in the distance, their hearts felt full.

There was still so much to do. Going home meant returning to the task at hand—finding a way to bring Jhoanna back completely. The fight wasn’t over. Not yet.

But just for this moment, they let themselves have this.

The warmth of each other’s presence. The sound of laughter mixing with the hum of the city. The feeling of belonging, of being understood, of knowing that despite everything—they had each other.

For now, that was enough.

For now, they chose happiness. Contentment.

Colet and Maloi stood close, fingers brushing, eyes meeting in soft glances filled with quiet affection. They looked happy—happier than they had been in a long time. Jhoanna, still holding onto the cat, had climbed onto Mikha’s back, giggling as Mikha pretended to stumble under her weight. Aiah laughed at them, the sound light and unrestrained, while Stacey stood a little farther away, watching them all with so much love in her eyes, like she was memorizing every little moment.

Sheena and Gwen, on the other hand, weren’t as loud. Instead, they were stealing glances at each other when they thought no one was looking, something unspoken passing between them. It was subtle, but it was there.

The hospital doors swung open again, and Dr. Suiren stepped out to join them. He wasn’t the most welcome presence among the girls, their suspicion of him still lingering, but they weren’t as harsh toward him as they used to be. He had saved Colet, after all. That counted for something.

He bid them goodbye with a knowing smile, his scar stretching across his face, but for once, it didn’t seem as menacing. Maloi caught herself wondering, just for a moment, what kind of pain he carried—what kind of weight he bore. But before she could dwell on it too long, the sound of tires rolling over pavement pulled her attention away.

Two cars stopped in front of them, the Grab rides they had booked. Colet and Mikha—normally the only two among them who drove—had left their cars at home. It wasn’t even a question this time. They had all agreed that neither of them should be behind the wheel right now. They were all too emotionally and physically exhausted to take that kind of risk.

As the drivers got out, opening the doors for them, there was a moment of silence. A quiet, shared understanding that this night marked something significant.

They were finally going home.

But even as they climbed into the cars, there was an unspoken truth lingering in the air. This wasn’t the end. Their fight wasn’t over. There was still so much left to do.

Still, for now, they could rest.

For now, they could just be.

As they all piled into the cars, a silent debate had already started.

Maloi, Aiah, Stacey, Sheena, and Jhoanna had taken one car, while Colet, Mikha, and Gwen stood by the second, groaning dramatically.

"Unfair," Colet muttered, crossing her arms. "We wanted Jho in our car."

"Too bad," Maloi shot back, smirking. "We called dibs."

"But—" Mikha started, looking at Jhoanna, who was happily squished between Sheena and Aiah, still holding the cat like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"You guys just don’t want to admit you suck at taking care of a kid," Stacey teased, raising a brow.

"Excuse me?" Gwen scoffed, looking mildly offended. "I am great with kids."

"Really?" Sheena smirked. "Because I distinctly remember you almost giving Jho coffee once."

"That was one time!"

"And Colet thought feeding her spicy ramen was a good idea," Aiah added.

Jhoanna giggled, clearly entertained. "It was so spicy," she admitted, sticking her tongue out at the memory.

Mikha sighed in defeat. "Fine, fine. Take her. But if she wants to switch mid-ride, we’re stealing her."

Jho only grinned. "I like it here."

Colet groaned dramatically as she finally slid into the second car, Gwen and Mikha following behind. As much as they wanted to complain, they knew Jhoanna would be safe with the others.

And maybe, deep down, they weren’t too upset about it.

Because even if they wouldn’t admit it out loud, they really did suck at taking care of a kid.

Colet stood by the car, her fingers playing with the strap of her bag, her face somber yet grateful as she spoke to Dr. Suiren. “I haven’t been able to talk to you properly. But... thank you,” she said, her voice soft but sincere, though she could still hear the faint hum of anxiety in her tone.

Dr. Suiren, with his ever-calm demeanor, gave her a slight nod, his dark eyes reflecting a bit of warmth. “It was a pleasure to serve a Lim and a Vergara. Take care of yourselves.” He patted her arm gently, as though giving her the closure she hadn’t known she needed.

Colet smiled, though the words didn’t fully lift the heaviness from her chest. She turned to enter the car where Mikha and Gwen were waiting for her, the engine already humming in anticipation.

Just as she was about to slide into the seat, she glanced back at the hospital grounds, where the other car with the girls and Jhoanna was pulling away from the curb. The small window was rolled down, and Jhoanna, with her face pressed against the cool glass, waved enthusiastically at Dr. Suiren. Her tiny hand bobbed in the air, the kitten in her other arm squirming slightly, almost as if it were trying to wave too.

A soft chuckle left Dr. Suiren’s lips, his gaze lingering on the little girl before him, a faint smile tugging at his features. He waved back, his expression the most vulnerable Colet had seen him in the entire time they had known him. For just a moment, he seemed less like the cold, stoic doctor and more like someone deeply connected to the people in his life.

But as the car with Jhoanna and the others started to drive away, Dr. Suiren’s smile faded. His gaze sharpened, and his stance shifted.

It was then that Colet noticed something too—the other car, the one with the girls, was pulling away slightly faster than theirs. It didn’t seem unusual at first, just a slight difference in speed. But as she looked closer, her heart skipped a beat.

Inside the car, she saw Maloi.

Her face—twisted in horror. Her mouth was wide open, and it was clear she was screaming something. But there was no sound. No movement.

Colet’s stomach dropped. It felt like time had slowed.

Dr. Suiren, still watching the two cars, seemed to freeze as well. There was a look in his eyes, something new, something unsettling—an undeniable shift.

A moment of tension passed before the doctor quickly took a step back, his eyes still locked on the car that had just passed.

Colet’s heart began to race, anxiety seeping into her veins. She couldn’t explain it, but in that brief second, she felt it too. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

But before she could voice any of her concerns, Dr. Suiren exhaled sharply, a look of nervousness creeping across his face. Without saying a word, he started to walk briskly toward the hospital entrance, his pace quickening as if he were being pulled in a direction that didn’t make sense to him, or anyone else for that matter.

Colet stared after him, her hand still on the door of the car, unsure of what to do. Her gut twisted, her mind racing, trying to connect the dots. She caught a fleeting glimpse of the car again—the one carrying Jhoanna, Maloi, and the others—but it was already disappearing into the distance.

And still, the image of Maloi’s face, her silent scream, lingered in Colet’s mind, gnawing at her.

A growing feeling, something darker, settled in her chest. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

Colet stood frozen, her mind whirring with unease as she stared at the disappearing taillights of the other car. Mikha and Gwen were calling out to her, their voices laced with confusion and urgency.

"Colet! Anong ginagawa mo?!" Mikha shouted from inside the car, worry evident in her tone. Gwen leaned forward, frowning. "Bakit hindi ka pa sumasakay?"

Before Colet could answer, the screech of tires cut through the night air. Her head snapped to the sound, and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest.

A car—moving too fast, too reckless—came to an abrupt stop right in front of them. The driver’s door swung open, and there stood Dr. Suiren, his expression sharp, filled with something Colet had never seen in him before. Fear.

"Faster!" he barked, his usual composure cracking.

Something about the way he said it—so urgent, so commanding—made Colet’s blood run cold. She didn’t hesitate.

“Putangina!” she cursed, spinning around to face Mikha and Gwen, who were still confused as hell. “Sumakay na tayo! Doon ko na sasabihin!”

The panic in her voice must have gotten to them because they didn’t argue. Mikha grabbed Gwen’s arm, and they both ran toward Dr. Suiren’s car, shoving themselves into the passenger seat without another word.

Colet turned to their original driver, who looked both alarmed and annoyed. But there was no time.

“Babayaran ka namin. Kunin mo number ko sa may harap.” She didn’t even know if the guy was listening, but she kept going. “Kami may-ari ng ospital, kaya kung gusto mo 50K, sige. Bye.”

Without waiting for a response, she slammed the car door shut and ran toward Dr. Suiren’s vehicle, her pulse hammering in her ears.

She barely knew this man. She never imagined she would ever trust him—especially not with the girls. But right now? Right now, something was wrong. Terribly wrong. And for some reason, Dr. Suiren knew it too.

So, for the first time in her life, she put her faith in him.

And prayed they weren’t already too late.

Dr. Suiren floored the accelerator, and the car surged forward, matching speed with the one carrying the girls. The two vehicles nearly touched, the proximity making Colet wince as a jolt of impact rattled through her body. Then came a harsh banging from the girls’ car—a sound that sent a spike of fear through everyone. In response, Dr. Suiren slammed on the brakes and then hit the gas again, crashing into the car with a resounding impact that vibrated through the night.

"Pota, sabihin niyo kaya nangyayari!" Mikha finally shouted, her voice raw with frustration and terror.

Colet, her heart pounding, managed to speak through the chaos. With a steady, trembling tone she answered, "Dinukot sila, Jho!" The weight of her words fell over us all—a stark revelation of what was unfolding.

In that split second, Mikha’s face turned ashen, her features drained of color, while Gwen’s expression froze in shock. The severity of the situation was sinking in, and every second felt like an eternity. Before anyone could gather their thoughts, Dr. Suiren struck the girls' car again. The impact was jarring, a brutal reminder of the stakes at hand.

"Puta, mag-ingat ka nga! Masasaktan sila, Jho!" Colet roared, her voice a mixture of anger and desperate concern.

Then, the doctor’s tone shifted to a scream, fierce and unyielding:
"Aba! Mas masasaktan yang mga yan pag hinayaan natin na madukot! Wag ka na makialam-alam, alam ko, ginagawa ko!"

His urgent commands and raw emotion hung in the air, a desperate bid to protect them. In that chaotic moment, every nerve in their bodies screamed that something was terribly wrong—and that they had to act before it was too late.

In a heartbeat, Dr. Suiren turned his steely gaze toward the girls, his finger thrusting toward the compartment in Colet’s car. Without hesitation, Colet flung it open. Inside, nestled in the dim light, lay three guns. Instinctively, she grabbed one for herself, slid one over to the doctor, and passed the remaining one to Mikha. Her movements were quick and determined—a silent promise that they were ready for what was to come.

Colet then met Gwen’s eyes, trying to offer comfort amidst the chaos. “It’s okay, Gwenny. We got this,” she murmured, her tone laced with both reassurance and steely resolve.

Gwen’s face hardened with resolve even as a hint of worry danced in her eyes. “But I have to do something,” she insisted, as if burdened by a duty that extended beyond her fear.

Colet’s hand reached out, gently brushing Gwen’s arm in a gesture of solidarity. “You already are,” she said softly. “I know how many sleepless nights you’ve spent in that lab, just to help Jhoanna. Now it’s our turn again.”

Before anyone could absorb her words fully, the tension escalated. Dr. Suiren edged closer to the car, his figure tense as he prepared for action. In one swift, decisive motion, he fired a shot into the shotgun seat of the girls’ car—each echo of the gunfire punctuating the desperate urgency of the moment.

Time seemed to slow as the sound reverberated through the darkened street. The impact was more than just physical—it was a signal, a battle cry that they were no longer victims but warriors fighting for those who had been taken from them.

In that charged moment, the weight of all their sleepless nights, their hidden fears, and their burning determination filled the air. They were ready to do whatever it took—together—to bring the girls back, to reclaim what had been stolen. The darkness outside was no match for the light they carried within themselves.

Dr. Suiren's shot rang out in the night, echoing off nearby buildings, but not a single bullet hit its target. Colet muttered, "May baril-baril pa, hindi naman pala magaling," complaining that their makeshift guns weren't any good.

Before anyone could react, Dr. Suiren slammed their car into the other vehicle. The impact knocked Colet's head against the dashboard. Dr. Suiren glanced over at her with a smirk. "Kotse ko 'to, ah," he teased, referring to her earlier remark.

Colet glared at him, pain and anger clear in her eyes. Shaking off the dizziness, she sprang into action. Without a word, she swung open the window, half of her body leaning out into the cool, rainy night. She started shooting at the wheels of the other car, trying to stop it from escaping.

But the driver of the other car was skilled. The tires kept spinning as the vehicle swerved away from her shots. Colet gritted her teeth and tried again, frustration evident in her groans. Finally, worn out by the effort, she pulled back into the car, and her weapon clattered onto the seat.

Mikha followed Colet's lead. She moved to the window and fired a few shots, but after a few desperate bursts, she stopped. Her eyes went wide with fear at the thought of accidentally hurting the girls in the other car.

In that tense moment, every heartbeat filled the air with worry. They all knew that the night's chaos had only just begun and that they were fighting for survival, hoping to protect the ones they cared about most.

Inside the car, Jhoanna's cries were the only sounds filling the tense silence. The four girls—Maloi, Sheena, Stacey, and Aiah—gathered around her, hugging her tightly. Even through her tears, Jhoanna clutched the cat close to her, a small comfort amid the chaos.

From time to time, the other girls in the car slammed their bodies against the doors, their motions quick and forceful. There were only two kidnappers in the front. Despite the terror in the air, moved with a strange confidence. Gunshots echoed through the confined space, adding to the frantic energy. The girls trusted that none of the girls would actually hit them, a silent belief borne out of a twisted sense of reliance on each other

Every action was measured yet desperate—a clash of fear and determination, as the girls fought to protect Jhoanna, and Jhoanna clung to her small source of comfort in the form of the cat.

All of them were afraid, but they could feel the surge of anger in Stacey. Her jaw was clenched tight as she suddenly sprang from her chair. In a burst of fury, she lunged at one of the kidnappers, grabbing a handful of his hair and striking him with all her might.

"Putangina niyo! Sinubukan niyo na nga, diba? Dalawa pa kami noon, tapos ngayon, apat pa kami!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the cramped space.

The girls scrambled, trying to pull Stacey back, even as Jhoanna—confused and frightened—reached out with her little hands to help. But the kidnapper's patience was wearing thin. With a swift, harsh swing, he smacked his elbow right into Stacey's face. The force of the blow was too much—Stacey's eyes rolled back, and she fainted instantly.

A collective cry rose from the girls as they reacted in shock. Aiah quickly scooped Jhoanna up, moving her away from where both she and Sheena had been sitting. In a twist of fate, Stacey landed right into Sheena's lap. Without missing a beat, Sheena pulled Stacey's limp body closer, cradling her protectively.

"Ate..." Sheena murmured, her voice thick with worry and anger.

For a moment, it looked like Sheena was ready to take matters into her own hands and strike back at the man who had hurt Stacey. But before she could move, Aiah stepped in. Grabbing Sheena's wrist, she shook her head firmly, signaling that now was not the time for more fighting.

In that tense moment, the air was filled with a mix of fear, anger, and sorrow. Each girl felt the weight of the situation—of fighting for their friend, and of knowing that even in their terror, they still had each other to lean on.

And then, suddenly, shock filled the air as everyone’s eyes were fixed on the front mirror. There, in a stunning display of courage, Gwen was visible mid-air. One moment she had been gripping the side of their car, and in a burst of determination, she leaped toward the girls’ car. Her body sailed through night, her hair whipping around her face, and she landed with a forceful impact against the front window. The glass rattled, and her face was twisted with anger—raw and fierce, as if she could take on anyone at that moment.

The sudden movement startled the driver, who swerved wildly, unsure of where to steer in this unfamiliar chaos, trying to shake Gwen off the road. Inside the car, dread swept over Sheena as she watched the dangerous scene unfold. Without a second thought, she gently moved Stacey to a safer seat. Aiah reached out to stop her, but Sheena broke free from her grasp.

Driven by adrenaline, Sheena sprang toward the driver’s side. She grabbed the steering wheel and fought to slow the car down and keep it straight. In the midst of the chaos, the man in the shotgun seat tried to wrest control from her. But Sheena, her face set in fierce determination, shouted over the roar of the engine,

"‘Wag ang ex ko! Mahal ko pa yan! Hindi pa ako nakakamove on dyan! Hayaan mo muna ako magmove on bago mo patayin!"

Her words rang out, raw and unfiltered, as the car drove through the night—a desperate bid to regain control in a moment where every second counted.

Meanwhile, in the doctor's car—with Mikha and Colet still inside—the situation continued to escalate. Gwen was at the window of the girls' car, her determination unyielding. The doctor, known for his driving skill, executed a precise drift and positioned his car in front of the girls' vehicle. In a sudden and unexpected move, he switched positions so that now his car was directly in front of the girls' car, with him driving in reverse.

Mikha and Colet watched in amazement at both Gwen's courage and the doctor's skill. "Bumaril na kayo, dali!" the doctor shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. The girls quickly snapped out of their stunned silence; they realized they could no longer aim at the front window. Instead, they had to target the car's wheels.

After a few rapid hits, the wheels began to screech—a high-pitched, desperate sound as the car struggled to maintain control. Gwen, still clinging to the side of the car, felt the vehicle's instability. The doctor kept his focus sharp, following the car's erratic path as it malfunctioned.

As the car careened toward a tree, everything happened in a heartbeat. Gwen was thrown off balance and began to fly over the side. But thanks to the doctor's expert maneuvering, he managed to bring the car to a stop just in time. Gwen landed safely on the roof of his car, unharmed despite the wild, dangerous ride.

In that moment, everything came to a sudden halt. A heavy silence settled over both cars, as if time itself had paused. Every person inside took a deep breath, their chests rising and falling in unison. In that quiet space, the weight of what had just happened filled the air, and without a single word, they all shared a fleeting moment of connection. They felt the presence of one another, a shared understanding that spoke louder than any words ever could.

Chapter Text

Gwen quickly climbed down from the car as Dr. Suiren, Mikha, and Colet hurriedly exited theirs. They sprinted toward the car containing the girls, their hearts pounding with dread. As they neared, the scene inside made their blood run cold.

Inside the car, chaos reigned. In the back seat, Sheena was pinned against the backrest of the front seat. One of the kidnappers, seated in the front, had leaned over and grabbed her head, forcing it forward. His grip was tight, keeping her from moving, while his other hand held a gun cocked and ready. In the same back seat, Aiah and Jhoanna sat, with Maloi clutching a slumped Stacey protectively by her side. Another kidnapper in the front pointed a second gun at the remaining girls, creating an atmosphere thick with terror.

The sight of this horrid scene made Mikha and Colet step forward, desperate to help. But before they could reach the car, the kidnapper holding Sheena tightened his grip and cocked the gun even further, aiming it directly at her head. The sudden pressure and the cold metal against her skin made Sheena cry out, her voice choked as she struggled against his hold.

Every moment in that tense silence felt like an eternity, each heartbeat pounding with fear and determination to break free.

Dr. Suiren, Mikha, and Colet quickly cocked their guns, leveling them steadily at the kidnappers. The kidnappers burst into mocking laughter, one of them jeering, “Sino tinatakot niyo?” as his grip on Sheena tightened, causing her to choke and struggle for breath.

Gwen stood there, paralyzed with a mix of terror and helplessness. The person she loved most was being held at gunpoint, and she felt utterly useless—she didn’t know how to handle a gun, nor could she punch or kick her way out of this nightmare.

Without a moment’s hesitation, driven by desperate instinct, Gwen dashed into the van. She leaped forward, determined to shield Sheena from harm. Quickly, she gathered Aiah, Jhoanna, Maloi, and Stacey, pulling them down onto the floor to protect them. Gwen used her body as a living barrier, positioning herself between the danger and the girls.

Then, as the tension reached its breaking point, multiple shots rang out, their sharp reports echoing through the confined space and plunging the van into chaos.

Then, there was blood—dark, slow trickles that stained the interior of the car. In that instant, Sheena froze; her eyes locked onto a horrifying sight as she looked down. At the back of Gwen, crimson was seeping through, marking the gravity of what had just transpired.

Jhoanna was the first to break the silence. With a trembling voice full of panic, she cried out, "Ate Gwenny!" Not long after, Aiah's and Maloi’s desperate call joined in, "Gwen!" Their voices overlapped in a chorus of shock and fear.

Meanwhile, Stacey remained unconscious, her still form a silent testament to the night's brutal chaos.

Then, Gwen’s head snapped up. Despite the blood trickling down her face—which made everyone assume she had been shot—she still moved with surprising strength. The girls were stunned, unable to fathom how Gwen could be so strong if she had really been injured that badly.

With sudden determination, she sprang to her feet and rushed to help the others. One by one, she guided them out of the car, all the while cradling Stacey in her arms before quickly handing her off to Mikha.

At that moment, little Jhoanna dashed toward Gwen, the cat trailing behind her. Once they were safely outside, Jhoanna skidded to a halt, her eyes wide with terror as she cried out, "Ate Gwen! Dugo! Dugo!" Her small voice trembled with shock.

Gwen managed a soft, reassuring laugh despite the chaos. She scooped Jhoanna into her arms and comforted her, saying, "It’s okay, it’s their blood, not mine." Her gentle words were meant to soothe, even as the grim scene unfolded around them.

Outside, the girls glanced back at the kidnappers and saw that their heads had been shot—likely by Mikha and Colet, who had taken desperate action. In that silent, tense moment, Gwen’s steady presence and kind words offered a small beacon of hope amid the pain and fear.

Though everyone had believed Gwen was shot because of the blood on her face, she had managed to avoid a fatal injury. The blood was a sign of the chaos, not a death sentence—and her resilience shone through, leaving the girls in awe of her strength.

Sheena was the first to dash over to Gwen, enveloping her in a tight hug that nearly squished little Jhoanna between them. With a wild mix of humor and exasperation, she blurted out, "Wala akong pake kung hindi na tayo, pero pwede bang alagaan mo naman sarili mo! Ayaw ko magkaroon ng ex na patay! Tapos kapag may iba ako, mumultuhin mo ako!" Her words tumbled out in a rush, and as if punctuating her declaration, she softly punched Gwen's chest. The sound of her playful strike echoed in the chaos, and before long, the other girls burst into laughter—a strange, comforting sound amid the turmoil.

Amid the laughter and lingering tension, Colet spoke up, her voice steady: "Uwi na tayo."

They finally reached home—everyone too traumatized to even book another Grab. In a moment of shared desperation, they managed to cram themselves into the doctor's car. As they settled into the cramped space, Stacey stirred and woke up in the middle of the drive. The tension broke into nervous laughter as someone joked about how she had slept through all the chaos.

Now at the house, the doctor helped unload their battered bags. Aiah even offered him a seat at the table, inviting him to eat with them, but he politely declined. One by one, the girls thanked him again, their gratitude laced with relief and lingering fear.

Colet then walked the doctor out to his car, pausing before he could leave. “Thank you, really,” she said, her voice soft and sincere. “But this time, I want to apologize for how we acted at first. We were just so protective of Jho.”

The doctor gave a small, understanding smile. “I know. Maloi told me everything,” he replied. “Don't get mad at her, though—she just wanted help.”

For a brief moment, Colet hesitated, unsure how to feel that the doctor knew so much about the chaos they’d endured. But she simply nodded and allowed him to drive away, the weight of the night's events slowly giving way to a fragile hope for calmer days ahead.

When Colet stepped back into the house, she found all the girls gathered in the living room, their eyes fixed on the evidence board where photos and clues from the night's ordeal were pinned. It was as if they were piecing together the fragments of what had just happened, seeking some form of understanding in the aftermath.

On the couch, Stacey sat with an ice bag pressed against her forehead—an obvious reminder of the hit she had taken. Despite the pain, she managed a small, wry smile that softened the harshness of the moment. The sight was unexpectedly endearing.

Little Jhoanna, ever determined and caring, climbed up next to Stacey. With her tiny hands, she reached for the ice bag and insisted on taking over the task of handling it. Though it was clear that Jhoanna's attempts were a bit clumsy, Stacey let her, even offering gentle guidance, a soft chuckle escaping as she watched the child mimic her actions.

In that quiet moment, amid the chaos and trauma of the previous hours, a tender scene unfolded. The girls, gathered around the board of evidence, found solace in each other’s presence, and even the smallest gestures—a child taking care of an ice bag—became symbols of hope and healing in the aftermath of everything that had happened.

Colet cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention as they gathered around the evidence board. "It's 12am," she announced, her voice steady despite the lingering tension. "I think we should call it a day."

Before anyone could respond, Mikha turned sharply toward Colet, her eyes burning with anger. The sudden outburst took Colet by surprise. "No! We can't!" Mikha shouted. "We've already had kidnappings happening! If we don't figure this out now, we won't be lucky next time! We had to put the investigation on hold because we were all in the hospital—and we even took longer because you were injured, too!"

The room fell silent for a moment as Mikha's words hung in the air, heavy with frustration and determination.

Colet’s eyes narrowed as she asked in a quiet, almost pained tone, “Edi kasalanan ko pa pala?”

For a moment, Mikha was taken aback, as if reconsidering her own harsh words. Slowly, her features softened. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with unspoken fear. “I just wanted this nightmare to be over. If you guys only knew how scared I was.”

Mikha then sank onto the couch, visibly exhausted by the weight of the night’s events. At that moment, little Jhoanna rushed over and wrapped her arms around Mikha, offering a tight, innocent hug. The gesture seemed to melt away some of Mikha’s anger, replacing it with a quiet sorrow as she whispered, “I just want Jho back.”

Finally, Aiah spoke up in a gentle but firm tone, “Let’s go to sleep tonight. So much has happened. Colet is right—if we aren’t okay, we’ll never know what to do next. But what matters is that we’re all safe.”

In that small, quiet moment, amid the lingering chaos and raw emotions, the girls clung to each other. Their voices and gentle reassurances were the first fragile signs of hope in the aftermath of the night’s terror.

Mikha murmured, "Sorry, Col." The tension in her voice was soft but sincere. Colet smiled warmly, stepping closer and gently ruffling Mikha's hair. "It's okay," she reassured, her tone calm and kind. "We can't fight now—we need each other in this situation. I won't make things any harder."

That night, as exhaustion finally claimed them, the chaos of the day faded into a gentle quiet. One by one, they found their way to sleep—each in a small, safe corner of the house. Despite the lingering pain and fear, a sense of calm had begun to settle over them. In the soft glow of the night, with hearts heavy yet hopeful, they drifted off into sleep, united by the unspoken promise that together, they could face whatever tomorrow might bring.

STACEY

A few days passed, and we pressed on with our investigation, following every lead we could find—especially now that we had the scientist’s name. We were all restless, barely sleeping and hardly eating. Yet even little Jhoanna, with her innocent reminders, would prompt us to take a break. When she asked, “Can I sleep now?” It was like a signal for all of us to pause and get some rest. And when she said, “Can I eat now?” we’d drop what we were doing to share a meal with her. Every laugh, every smile from her reminded us why we were doing all of this—it was her overflowing love that kept us going.

Then one day, Mikha suddenly snapped. “What if I do it too?” she blurted out. Gwen immediately asked, “What do you mean?” Mikha started talking about the dark web, her voice rising with uncertainty and anger. Before she could finish, Aiah’s hand came out of nowhere and slapped her, leaving everyone, including Colet—who had been about to say something—utterly stunned.

In that moment of shock, little Jhoanna, who had been playing on the floor, scrambled over onto Mikha’s lap as if her small body could somehow shield her. Aiah’s anger then erupted as she said, “What? Ginagaya mo ba bff mo? You know what happened to Colet, right? And now you want to follow in her footsteps—bobo ka ba?” With that, Aiah stormed out of the room.

Afterwards, Colet whistled softly and muttered, “HIndi pa nga kayo, and you’re already fighting.” She teased Mikha, who returned the look with a glare sharp enough to silence any further banter.

In that charged moment, amidst our exhaustion and fears, our fragile bonds were tested—but it was moments like these, raw and imperfect, that reminded us we were in this together.

That day, I was jolted awake by cheerful singing—a raucous version of "Happy Birthday" that filled the room. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I saw all the girls gathered around me. Sheena was proudly holding up a cake right in front of my face, while Jhoanna stood by my side, gently holding the cat and even managing to make its little paw clap along with the song.

Colet, Mikha, and Gwen wore oversized, silly birthday caps that looked far too ridiculous, yet they kept singing with enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Aiah and Maloi were busy blowing confetti, their faces lit up with excitement, and little Jhoanna tried her hardest to catch the falling pieces.

I couldn’t help but laugh at everyone’s antics. The sun was already up, streaming warm light into the room as the celebration unfolded. I took a deep breath, blew out the candle on my cake, and chuckled, “Hindi ko nga naalala na birthday ko ngayon.”

Sheena burst into laughter and teased, “Paanong hindi namin maalala, eh? Ayan ata, laman ng calendar ni ate Jho!” We all laughed together, the sound of our mirth filling the space with warmth and joy.

Then, I glanced over at Jho—the one who had always made sure to make my birthday special every year since we were together—and felt a deep surge of gratitude. In that moment, surrounded by my friends and the innocent joy of the day, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.

We were all laughing together in the room, still riding the high of our shared relief, when suddenly the doorbell rang. The sound cut through our laughter like a sharp note in an otherwise gentle melody. Mikha was the first to answer. A few moments later, she returned, looking confused.

"The guy said it's for Jhoanna," she explained, her brow furrowed. "I told him she's not here, and then he asked if there's a Stacey Sevilleja here. I think it's something Jho ordered when she was…" Her voice trailed off as she glanced toward Jho, silently hinting at the unspoken details.

Before I could process her words, I rushed to the door, hastily smoothing down my clothes as I went. I opened the door and asked, "Kuya, ano po yun?"

He looked at me, then at the package in his hands, and replied, "Kayo po yun, Stacey?" His tone was gentle yet laced with curiosity, as if confirming that the delivery was indeed meant for someone else.

I nodded, and he handed me a clipboard. "Please sign here," he said. 

"Kuya, Shopee po ba kayo? Lazada? Tiktok? Ngayon lang po ako nakakita ng pipirma pa sa clipboard."

A soft chuckle escaped him. "Ay, ma'am, hindi po. Galing po kaming Toyota," he replied warmly.

I raised my eyebrow in disbelief. “Toyota?” I repeated, barely able to process what I had just heard. The man reached into his pocket and produced a small car key, dropping it into my trembling hand. “Happy Birthday po, ma'am. Ang sweet nga po ng girlfriend niyo, binilhan po kayo ng kotse,” he said with a polite smile before walking away. I stood there, utterly speechless, staring at the key as if it were a miracle.

Soon, the girls burst out of the door. Colet was the first to call, “Hoy, anyare sayo?” I looked at them, my heart pounding in a mix of wonder and confusion. Then I saw Jhoanna tugging at my shirt. There, drawn on the paper, was a simple, heartfelt picture—a sketch of her, me, and our cat—with the words “Regalo ko sayo, ate” written above it. I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. Between sobs, I managed to say, “Binilhan ako ni Jho ng kotse.”

The shock on their faces was immediate. Sheena was the first to dash downstairs determined to see the car, and I was the second behind her, and before I knew it, everyone was following—Jhoanna in tow, Colet gently carrying her, and even Aiah, who stayed near the door, watching us all with heartfelt eyes.

We stepped outside and stared in awe at the car. It was a bright pink car—loud, unexpected, and completely out of place. I recalled how many people claimed to hate pink, yet Jhoanna had never complained about it because she knew how much I loved the color. Even though she wasn’t physically here now, a piece of her was still with me in that memory.

Overwhelmed by the moment, I broke down in tears again. Aiah came over and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, offering silent comfort. In that quiet moment, with the car shining in the early light and my friends gathered around, I realized that amidst all the chaos and pain we had endured, we were still together—still holding onto hope, still ready to face whatever came next.

Chapter Text

STACEY 

When I got inside the car, I noticed a card placed on the shotgun seat, accompanied by a balloon bearing my age. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when I saw it said “70.” Jho and I always joked about how old each other looked, so it felt like a playful reminder of our silly banter.

The girls were still gathered outside, leaving me a quiet moment to take in the car’s interior. Despite it being so undeniably pink, they were mesmerized by its look. In that peaceful pause, I couldn’t help but smile at the way everything felt so surreal, yet so full of promise.

I pick up the card from the shotgun seat, my fingers trembling slightly as I slide it from its resting place. Slowly, I open it, and in that quiet moment, tears threaten to well up again. Alongside the handwritten letter, there’s a Polaroid picture—a snapshot of me and her from a time before everything changed.

In that faded image, we are together on the familiar rooftop of our school, a place filled with innocent laughter and whispered secrets. It was a moment when she hadn't yet discovered her feelings for me, when I was merely there to help her with her crush. That picture, captured before the chaos of our lives, holds a special, bittersweet magic. It reminds me of a simpler time, a time when our hearts were unburdened by the weight of the future, and every smile was a promise of possibilities yet to come.

I took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly unfolded the card, my heart pounding in my chest as I began to read the letter. Every word felt heavy with meaning, stirring memories I’d long kept buried. The letter began simply, yet its gentle sincerity washed over me like a tender embrace:

"To my cherished Stacey,
I no longer care if others despise the color pink or say it’s too loud and overwhelming. Ever since you entered my life, you’ve filled it with shades I never knew existed. Out of all those colors, your favorite—pink—has become the one constant in my world. It isn’t just a color anymore; it’s a part of me now, forever intertwined with you. Today, I want to show you that there’s nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to loving pink, by gifting you a car that embodies its spirit."

As I read, the room around me faded into the background. I could almost see her—smiling gently, her eyes soft with hope—as she wrote each line. Memories of simpler days flooded back: quiet moments on the rooftop of our school, where our laughter was light and our dreams seemed limitless. It was in those moments that I had first come to understand the beauty of our shared world, painted in vibrant hues and unspoken promises.

The raw honesty of her words struck me deeply. I felt as if I were holding a piece of our past—a tangible reminder of a time when love was uncomplicated and every smile was a promise. The car key in my hand, the birthday card, and now this letter all merged into one poignant moment of clarity and longing.

Overwhelmed by the bittersweet beauty of it all, tears began to blur my vision. I couldn’t hold back the emotions any longer. Each tear that fell was a testament to the joy we had known, the sorrow of what had been lost, and the hope that still glimmered in the recesses of my heart.

In that fragile moment, the letter became more than mere words on paper—it was a living memory of a love that had changed my world, a love that would always be a part of me, no matter how much time passed.

I was crying, overwhelmed by my emotions, when a sudden knock came at my window. Wiping away my tears, I rolled down the window to see Maloi standing there. A small smile broke through my sadness as I asked, "Sponty tayo?" Instantly, the room erupted with cheers. It wasn’t the first time someone had arrived in a car, but the outpouring of love and support felt especially comforting now.

Later, as we drove down a long, open road, the atmosphere in the car was a mix of quiet joy and unspoken relief. Colet sat in the front, cradling Jhoanna as she leaned out the lowered window, gently holding the cat and soaking in the feel of the soft sunlight. Outside, the sky was bright yet calm, a perfect backdrop for our makeshift celebration.

In the back, Mikha, Aiah, Maloi, and Gwen danced to the upbeat tune of "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus. The car was spacious enough for us all, and despite the chaos of recent days, there was a sense of freedom and unity in our little party on wheels. I couldn’t help but think how thoughtful Jhoanna had been—she always knew exactly what the girls needed, even if it was just a ride to bring us all together.

In a burst of playful energy, Maloi suddenly slapped her girlfriend and teased, "Pag yung si Jho tumalon, itutulak kita!" Her words, laced with mischief, sent a ripple of laughter through the car, though it was tempered by a shared concern. Colet’s eyes grew sad, a side of her none of us had ever seen before, and the mood shifted for a moment.

Seeing this, Sheena leaned forward and said softly, "Ate, hindi bagay sayo." Even as our laughter resumed, there was an unspoken promise among us: that we would look after each other, no matter what storms came our way.

In that moving, unpredictable ride, every sound—from the music to our playful banter—wove together a tapestry of hope, resilience, and deep, unbreakable friendship.

The girls' laughter faded into the background as a memory of Jho floated back to me.

"Mahal, aral tayo mag-drive," Jhoanna had said that day while we were at Jollibee for lunch. Our schedules had finally aligned—usually, it was my class time, but my teacher had canceled on us.

I raised an eyebrow at her suggestion and teased, "Bakit? Anong kotse, balak mo nakawin? Yung kay Mikha o yung kay Colet?" I laughed, expecting her to laugh along, but she remained unexpectedly serious.

"Hey... if you're really serious about this, I mean we can, but you already have so much on your plate. Mahal, you have work and school, and adding that to the mix will just exhaust you," she replied softly.

In that moment, as I remembered our simpler times and the dreams we once shared, the playful banter gave way to a tender concern—a quiet reminder that even our wildest ideas must sometimes yield to the reality of our responsibilities.

"I know, but I just thought it would be fun—because I can do it with you. I promise, I'll be the one to pay for driving school," she assured me. I couldn't help but smile at her eagerness, though the idea of it all made me feel both nostalgic and a little overwhelmed. I held her hand on the table and said firmly, "No, I'll pay. I hate it when you always take charge of these things." I rolled my eyes teasingly, and Jhoanna burst into laughter, teasing, "Mas nagmumukha kang 70 sa kakaikot mo ng mata mo eh." Her laughter filled the memory with warmth and lightness.

And then, just like that, the memory ended. I was back with the girls, watching Jhoanna still enjoying the moment—singing along with everyone, her smile as bright as ever. In that moment, I understood why Jhoanna had wanted us to learn how to drive. Even though I cherished that first ride with the girls, a bittersweet feeling tugged at me. I realized that while she had given me this incredible gift—a car bought just for me—I longed for it to be ours, a shared moment of freedom. I wanted that experience to belong to both of us, to be a memory we could cherish together.

This moment, this dream of riding together and exploring the world side by side, was meant for both of us. And even as the laughter and teasing faded into the background, I held onto that hope—a hope that one day, our shared journey would be as real as the love and support that surrounded us now.

AIAH 

It was already 9 PM, and all the girls had returned to their designated sleeping places. We had spent the entire day driving in Stacey's new car, the endless miles etched into the quiet hum of the journey. Mikha and I had settled onto the sofa, seeking comfort in the stillness of the night. As I lay there, I felt her hand gently reaching for my hair, her fingers softly brushing it back behind my ear. In that tender silence, our closeness spoke volumes—yet we still hadn't found the words to truly discuss us. We both knew that everything around us was spiraling into chaos, and so we had silently agreed to pause, to let the madness settle for a while.

But as I lay there, lost in the gentle rhythm of Mikha's touch and the shared quiet, a nagging thought crept into my mind. I wondered, is it selfish of us to decide to put our feelings on hold now, right in the midst of this chaos? Is it too selfish to let the world burn around us while we try to catch our breath and salvage what little we can of our hearts?

In that fragile moment, with the night wrapping us in its dark embrace and the distant echo of the day's turmoil lingering like a ghost, I realized that perhaps this pause wasn't selfish at all—it was survival. And maybe, just maybe, it was the only way for us to stay whole until the storm had passed.

I was lost in my thoughts when a gentle voice pierced through the haze, "Gorgeous, are you okay?" I snapped out of my reverie and looked up to find Mikha’s concerned eyes fixed on me. In that moment, despite the beauty and chaos surrounding us, I realized I desperately needed something—a connection, a lifeline. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "Mikha, I want it already." The words escaped before I could think twice.

Mikha’s eyebrow arched in confusion. I sighed, sitting up slowly, and she mirrored my movement, waiting for me to continue. I found myself studying her face—the way her hair fell softly around her, the expressive curve of her thick eyebrows, the gentle flush on her cheeks, her tender lips, and the deep sincerity in her eyes. With a racing heart, I began, "I want something to hold onto, Mikha. I know we’re caught up in so much chaos right now, but we can’t keep everything on hold forever. I know I sound selfish, and you know I love Jho, but we’ve built our lives around this mess, and I can’t let it take away what we have."

I quickly looked away, fearful that my confession might push her away. The silence that followed felt endless, heavy with uncertainty, and I worried she might think I was being self-indulgent. Then, as if reading the turmoil inside me, Mikha suddenly stood up and extended her hand. "Come on, we're going somewhere," she said softly.

I hesitated for a heartbeat before meeting her gaze, my voice barely a whisper as I asked, "Where?"

With a gentle smile that brightened her face, she replied, "Just follow me."

In that moment, as I took her hand, I felt a spark of hope—a promise that amidst the chaos, we would find our way forward together.

I was lost in my thoughts when a gentle voice pierced through the haze, "Gorgus, are you okay?" I snapped out of my reverie and looked up to find Mikha’s concerned eyes fixed on me. In that moment, despite the beauty and chaos surrounding us, I realized I desperately needed something—a connection, a lifeline. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "Mikha, I want it already." The words escaped before I could think twice.

Mikha’s eyebrow arched in confusion. I sighed, sitting up slowly, and she mirrored my movement, waiting for me to continue. I found myself studying her face—the way her hair fell softly around her, the expressive curve of her thick eyebrows, the gentle flush on her cheeks, her tender lips, and the deep sincerity in her eyes. With a racing heart, I began, "I want something to hold onto, Mikha. I know we’re caught up in so much chaos right now, but we can’t keep everything on hold forever. I know I sound selfish, and you know I love Jho, but we’ve built our lives around this mess, and I can’t let it take away what we have."

I quickly looked away, fearful that my confession might push her away. The silence that followed felt endless, heavy with uncertainty, and I worried she might think I was being self-indulgent. Then, as if reading the turmoil inside me, Mikha suddenly stood up and extended her hand. "Come on, we're going somewhere," she said softly.

I hesitated for a heartbeat before meeting her gaze, my voice barely a whisper as I asked, "Where?"

With a gentle smile that brightened her face, she replied, "Just follow me."

In that moment, as I took her hand, I felt a spark of hope—a promise that amidst the chaos, we would find our way forward together.

We burst out of the dorm like a pair of carefree children, the cool night air energizing us as we ran side by side. The moon followed our every step, casting silver light over everything and reminding me of how we used to be—uninhibited and joyful. Amid the laughter and the rapid footsteps, I turned to Mikha, still holding my hand tightly, and blurted, "Aren't we going to use your car? Where are we even going?"

Her response was as spontaneous as our escape: "School!" I paused, tempted to question her choice, but then realized it didn’t matter at all—as long as I was with her, any destination felt right. The school was only a stone’s throw away from the dorm, yet by the time we reached the front gates, both of us were breathing heavily. Mikha's breaths were so labored that for a moment, I feared she might collapse. With a teasing huff, I said, "Tsk, kaya sinasama kita mag-jogging." She paused, composed herself, and then stuck her tongue out, adding with a playful smile, "Edi wow."

In that fleeting moment, caught between laughter and exhaustion, I realized just how beautiful Mikha looked under the moonlight—radiant, vibrant, and utterly unforgettable, regardless of the chaos surrounding us.

I looked at the dark outline of the school and whispered, "What are we even doing here?" But Mikha didn’t answer—instead, she started climbing the gate without a word. Frustrated, I shouted after her, "Hey, stupid! This is trespassing!" Yet she pressed on, so I followed, scrambling up the fence with a mix of determination and mischief.

When Mikha finally dropped down safely, she let out an excited whoosh. I was just about to hit the ground too when, suddenly, I lost my footing. Expecting the hard impact, I braced myself—but instead, soft arms caught me. I looked up to find Mikha’s face mere inches from mine, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

"Sinadya mo siguro yun para makahawakan kita ng ganito, 'no?" she teased, her voice light and full of mischief.

I couldn’t help but react. I playfully slapped her arm as I pulled away, my cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and delight. In that surreal moment, I felt like I was living in a movie—the night, the thrill, and the unexpected tenderness all merging into one unforgettable memory.

She pulled me close once more and whispered urgently, "Come on, the guard might see us." With that, we took off again, sprinting down the dim hallways. Our laughter mingled with the echo of our footsteps, a burst of youthful freedom that made the night feel endless. Just as we began to feel safe again, a guard appeared at the end of the corridor. Without a word, Mikha and I ducked behind a corner, stifling our giggles as we huddled together until the guard passed by.

Once the coast was clear, Mikha grabbed my hand and led me into a nearby room. With a swift click, she turned on the light, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. Before me stretched a vast drawing room—a space both chaotic and mesmerizing. Canvases were stacked haphazardly against the walls; some boasted vibrant sketches and unfinished masterpieces, while others lay blank, their emptiness somehow inviting. In the midst of the disorder, there was a peculiar beauty—a reflection of creativity unbound.

I stood there, my heart still racing from our escape, and marveled at the scene. The room, with its mixture of art and mess, seemed to capture the spirit of our night perfectly—a wild, unpredictable burst of passion and possibility. For a brief moment, all the fear and adrenaline melted away, replaced by the quiet wonder of discovering something unexpectedly beautiful in the chaos.

I looked at Mikha and asked, "Is this one of your classes?" She's an art major—this place is her playground, the very essence of who she is. She nodded, and I trailed behind as she walked toward a large canvas draped in a soft, faded blanket.

As we moved along, I passed a table covered with drawings. There were sketches of different things—so many, repeating in a hypnotic pattern—but then my eyes caught one drawing that made me stop in my tracks. In that piece, I saw a portrait of myself rendered with care and beauty. Each paper in the series was marked with Mikha's signature, and for once, I felt seen—truly beautiful in a way that only art can capture.

When I noticed that Mikha had reached the canvas, I hurried after her, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. "Stalker," I called out, referring teasingly to the drawing. It was my way of acknowledging how she had captured me so unexpectedly on paper.

Mikha turned back with a mischievous glint in her eyes and replied, "Pogi naman ang stalker mo." Her tone was light, affectionate, and filled with the unspoken understanding that in our world, even a teasing remark could be a declaration of love.

We laughed for a moment, our playful banter echoing softly around us, until suddenly Mikha's smile faded into a thoughtful seriousness. She shifted her gaze to the large canvas draped in a faded blanket—a piece of art that seemed to hold a quiet promise—and took a slow, steady breath before speaking.

"Earlier, you said you wanted something to hold onto," she began, her voice gentle yet resolute. "I felt that way too. At first, I thought it was selfish, wanting something so tangible when everything else around us is so chaotic. But then, when you told me you felt that same pull—choosing to want it despite the uncertainty—I realized something. Maybe 'selfishness' isn't just about taking from the world. Maybe it means choosing both of ourselves, holding onto each other even when it's hard."

She paused, letting her words settle in the quiet space between us. Her eyes searched mine, seeking confirmation. "I do have you, right?" she asked softly.

In that moment, everything seemed to pause. Her words weren't just a confession; they were a promise, a declaration that even amidst chaos, we could choose to stand together. I felt a warmth swell inside me, a blend of relief and fierce hope, as I realized that our shared desire to hold onto something—each other—was anything but selfish. It was our way of carving out a piece of light in the darkness.

"You have me, always, through and through, Mikhs." I whispered, the words raw and true as I looked into her eyes. I meant to step closer—to claim her entirely—but before I could, she gripped the edge of the blanket and pulled it away. In that gentle tug, it felt as if she were revealing a hidden truth, a side of me I had never truly seen before. In that moment, the hidden artwork was revealed—a canvas so vivid it took my breath away. It was me, completely exposed in all my vulnerabilities and strengths, and I suddenly realized something profound.

As I glanced at the canvas before us, it struck me: this artwork was a reflection of how Mikha saw me—flawed, perhaps, but utterly lovable. Every brushstroke and color spoke of hope, acceptance, and a beauty that was uniquely ours. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming urge not only to love Mikha with every fiber of my being but also to learn to love myself. 

Standing there, my heart pounding with a newfound understanding, I took a slow step forward. "You have me, always," I repeated, letting that promise echo between us. In that tender exchange, as the weight of the world eased ever so slightly, I knew that our love—our shared journey—was a beautiful, fragile thing worth cherishing, no matter how chaotic life might get.

I came home with Mikha, our hands entwined more firmly than ever—a silent promise that, amidst all the chaos, we had something real to hold on to. As we stepped into the dorm, I expected to find the girls already asleep, but instead, a shocking scene unfolded before me.

The living room was filled with tense energy. Jhoanna was nowhere to be seen—likely lost in deep sleep in her own room—while Colet sat on the couch, her expression etched with worry as she clutched a stack of papers that only grew more crumpled with each passing moment. Maloi sat close by, her presence a quiet comfort, while Sheena and Gwen huddled around an evidence board, scrutinizing every detail. A new note caught my eye: "Jho was being threatened." The words pierced the silence like a cold, unwelcome reminder of our recent trials.

In the kitchen, Stacey was perched on the counter, her posture slack and lost, as if the weight of the world had momentarily silenced her. The first to spot our arrival was Colet. Her eyes flashed with anger as she barked, "San kayo galing?" Her voice trembled with hurt even as it cut sharply through the murmur of the room. Mikha replied quickly, "Outside." But Colet wasn’t finished—her retort was bitter, "Nakuha niyo pang mag-date." Her gaze lingered on the way Mikha and I held hands, and in that unspoken moment, I felt the sting of reproach and sorrow intertwined.

I could see Mikha bristling, ready to march over to confront Colet, but instinct and care made me gently hold her back. Even Maloi shouted at her, but all I did was ask softly, "Col, anong meron?" my heart ached at the sight of Colet—her eyes filled with a mix of grief and fury, her hands trembling with the burden of untold secrets. In that heavy silence, I knew something was terribly wrong. The chaos of our recent days had seeped into every corner of our lives, and now it stared us in the face with unyielding intensity.

I stood there, feeling the weight of it all press against my chest, wondering how we could ever find a moment of peace when even our shared laughter seemed tainted by worry. But in that moment, I also felt a fierce determination rising inside me—a promise that, no matter how overwhelming the darkness, we would hold onto each other and find a way to keep moving forward.

In the dim light of that moment, Colet suddenly stood up, her hands trembling uncontrollably as every eye in the room fixed on her. "Sorry, kung nasabi ko yun kanina, pero..." she began, her voice faltering under the weight of her emotions. It was clear she was breaking down again.

Without hesitation, I reached out and held her hand, trying to offer some small measure of comfort as I gently tugged at the stack of papers clutched in her grasp. Slowly, Colet edged closer to Mikha and collapsed into her arms, sobbing quietly while she repeated her apologies over and over—without giving any clear explanation.

I couldn’t help but glance down at the papers I had managed to pick up. They were letters addressed to Jho, and as I read them, a cold dread settled over me. The letters were filled with threats—ominous promises of harm, of being used, of doing everything in their power to get her back. My blood ran cold when I reached the final page, where one line stood out: "I'll get you back, my daughter."

Mikha and I exchanged a look, our eyes heavy with shared sorrow and anger, as we continued to hold Colet tightly. With every word on those pages, I could feel my heart sinking further. I ached for Jho—she was being threatened, and she had never told any of us. In that painful moment, the room fell into a heavy silence, and I realized just how deeply the shadows of our past were creeping into our fragile present.

Chapter Text

COLET 

Mikha slowly pushed my head up, her eyes soft and understanding despite the harsh words I had blurted out earlier. I couldn’t explain it—I hadn’t meant them. I had just reached a breaking point.

"Col, saan mo nakita 'to?" she asked gently, her voice laced with genuine concern. "These are threats, I know, but I don’t understand them. Lalo na yung huli—what does that even mean?"

I could only stare, my throat tightening as the weight of my emotions made it hard to speak. Finally, through a choked sob, I managed, "I was just... I was going through Jho’s drawers, just looking, and then I found these... I don’t even know, Mikhs. But it means that whoever took Jho has been planning this for a long time—she knew, yet she never once mentioned it to us. Puta, bakit niya sinasarili 'to? If she had told us, baka may nagawa pa tayo! Baka may nagawa pa ako!”

My words tumbled out, raw and desperate, and as the tears streamed down my face, Mikha wrapped her arm around me and pulled my head against her shoulder again.  In that moment, I realized that even though I was older, she had always been my protector—my anchor in this turbulent sea.

I heard Mikha ask Stacey, “Staku, sigurado ka na bang wala na mga magulang ni Jho? If there's anything important in all of these messages, it's this: may tatay si Jho—at siya yung possible na dumukot sa kanya.” Her tone was serious, weighted with worry. I pulled my head away from Mikha’s shoulder and stood beside her, forcing myself to stop crying. This couldn’t go on like this—Mikha was trying so hard to be strong for all of us, and I could feel that strength, even as I wiped away my tears.

From the kitchen counter, Stacey took a moment before speaking. “Wala, wala na siyang ibang sinabi sa akin. Ang sinabi lang niya sa akin—‘namatay sila sa bangaan’—kaya hindi ko alam kung ano ‘to, Mikhs. Hindi ko alam.” She shook her head slowly, her eyes searching for answers.

Then, Aiah—followed up, turning to Sheena with a mixture of disbelief and urgency. “Shee, ikaw ang kasama niya dito. Ni isang beses ba hindi mo nakita na kinukuha ‘to ni Jho? Sa tapat ng pintuan? Delivery guy na hinatid ‘to?” I could feel her voice trembling as she spoke, the tension in the room thick enough to cut through.

For the first time, Sheena said nothing but simply shook her head, her silence speaking volumes. In that moment, I felt the weight of our unspoken fears, the desperation to understand a situation that was spiraling out of control. Every word, every gesture, etched itself into my memory—a painful reminder that even in our small circle, there were mysteries and threats we hadn’t yet fully grasped.

I was still processing the heaviness of the moment when, suddenly, a glass crashed, its shattering sound slicing through our conversation. I turned just in time to see Stacey bending down to pick up a small, fallen glass from the floor—her movements hurried, but in her haste, she mishandled it. Maloi lunged forward to help, but it was too late; as Stacey reached for the shards, she ended up with a small, shallow scar on her hand.

I watched as Aiah dashed off to fetch a bandage, her concern evident in every step, while Maloi scrambled to clean up the mess. The tension in the room was palpable, yet there was a moment of awkward humor when Maloi remarked, "Si Princess talaga oh... Hindi marunong..." Her teasing was meant to lighten the mood, and even though I could sense the underlying worry, her words sparked a small, bittersweet laugh among us.

Aiah’s voice then broke through the quiet as she gently asked, "Okay ka lang?" The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears and shared responsibility. Stacey's response, however, was loaded with frustration and sorrow. "Ate, dapat alam ko 'to," she began, her tone wavering as she continued, "Dapat alam ko kung may nangyayari kay Jho, diba? Dapat alam ko kung patay na ba talaga mga magulang niya o hindi—edi sana nakakatulong ako sa inyo, pero hindi." Her words, raw and desperate, filled the room with a palpable sadness.

Before I could find my own voice, Shee added quietly, "Ate, kilala mo naman yung si ate Jho, diba? Kung kaya niya, sa kanya muna—hindi mo naman kasalanan yun." The conversation took on a new weight, each of us acutely aware of the unspoken implications behind Stacey’s bitter laugh as she muttered, "Kakasarili ng mokong na yun, naging bata tuloy."

In that charged moment, every word and gesture struck deep, revealing our collective fear, regret, and the burden of secrets we all carried. I felt the heaviness of our shared past and the uncertainty of what lay ahead, and it broke my heart to see the pain in Stacey’s eyes. We were all struggling to hold on—to each other, to hope—but the truth about Jho and the threats that loomed over her was a wound we had yet to heal.

Stacey repeated, "Dapat alam ko eh," as Aiah finally finished tending to her scars. The room fell into a heavy silence that seemed to swallow every sound. Then, suddenly, the door creaked open, and there stood Jho—woken and tear-streaked, her face a mixture of vulnerability and surprise.

I’d hoped that seeing her would bring a smile to our faces, but instead, the sight of her crying sent a jolt of alarm through all of us. In an instant, everyone sprang into action, rushing over to her as if our collective care could somehow dry her tears. Mikha, gentle and steady, wiped away the droplets from Jho’s cheeks, her voice soft as she asked, "Why? What's wrong?"

Between trembling sobs, Jho managed to whisper, "Akala ko iwan niyo ko!" Her words hung in the air, laden with hurt and a desperate plea for reassurance.

For a moment, time seemed to pause—the shock, the pain, the fear of abandonment mingled with our shared relief that she was, in fact, here with us. And then, as if our collective hearts couldn't bear the tension any longer, laughter bubbled up from within us. It was a bittersweet laugh, tinged with relief and a deep, unspoken promise that we would never let go of one another.

STACEY 

It was morning, and we gathered by the door, reluctant to let Jho go—even though she was only stepping out for a few hours, we said our goodbyes as if she were leaving for a year. I handed Gwen the bag that Jho carried, filled with all her essentials, and we all agreed that today was too heavy with tension. We couldn’t let that atmosphere cling to Jho, not when she deserved a moment of lightness. Thankfully, Gwen volunteered to take her out.

We exchanged hushed reminders, each of us urging Gwen to be extra careful given everything that had been happening over the past few days. One by one, we shared our bits of advice and well-wishes, our voices mixing with the soft hum of early morning quiet. As time stretched on, Gwen's tone grew slightly irritated—her exasperation at our endless list of reminders was enough to make us laugh, easing the tension just a little.

Finally, the moment came for Jho to leave. Jhoanna waved her hand energetically, calling out, "Bye, ate! Bye, ling!" and we all watched as Jho disappeared down the hallway until she was just a distant figure, until the door closed behind her.

Standing there in the silence that followed, I looked down at my feet and noticed a soft, fluffy creature meowing softly. I scooped the little cat into my arms and murmured, "It's okay, Jho will come back later." In that quiet moment, holding the gentle warmth of the small cat, I found a fragile comfort—a promise that even in our departures, there would be returns, and that the love we shared would always bring her back to us.

Eventually, we all gathered in the living room, trying to piece together the fragments of our recent days. I couldn’t tell if we were making any real progress, but one thing was crystal clear—we all wanted to bring Jho back safely.

It was 12 noon, and exhaustion had finally caught up with me. I stretched out on the couch, my eyes wandering aimlessly until they landed on the car key I’d left on the kitchen counter. It was the gift from Jho, customized in my signature style—painted bright pink, a color that always reminded me of her thoughtful, playful spirit. My heart ached with a bittersweet fondness as I remembered all the care she’d put into every little detail.

I got up and picked up the car key, planning to place it carefully in Jho’s drawer, a small keepsake to hold close. But then, the doorbell rang. I hurried to answer it, with the girls preoccupied behind me. When I opened the door, a delivery guy was there holding an envelope.

“Jhoanna Robles?” he asked.

I replied that she wasn’t here, but when I mentioned she was my roommate—even if, in truth, it was Sheena who filled that role—the man handed me the envelope with a nod before leaving.

After the encounter, I rushed back into the room, determined to find the perfect place to store the car key—a key that had become so much more than a simple object. I decided right then that I wouldn’t use it until Jho was officially back to her normal self. The thought of taking a car ride without her presence hurt deeply; that key was a promise meant for both of us. I dreamed of a day when our belongings would mingle seamlessly, a future where her cherished trinkets and my little mementos shared space together. I wanted to see her personal touches, like her Tumblr, left in the car—a symbol that this gift was not mine alone, but belonged to us both.

After the encounter, I rushed back into the room, determined to find the perfect place to store the car key—a key that had become so much more than a simple object. I decided right then that I wouldn’t use it until Jho was officially back to her normal self. The thought of taking a car ride without her presence hurt deeply; that key was a promise meant for both of us. I dreamed of a day when our belongings would mingle seamlessly, a future where her cherished trinkets and my little mementos shared space together. I wanted to see her personal touches, like her Tumblr printouts, left in the car—a symbol that this gift was not mine alone, but belonged to us both.

I began my search on Jho’s study table, carefully rifling through her drawers, only to find each one filled to the brim with items that already had their own place in her world. At last, I discovered a locked drawer tucked away at the bottom. I knew that the key to that drawer had to be hidden in plain sight—knowing my “moron girlfriend,” it was bound to be somewhere obvious. I walked over to her single bed, and as expected, found it immediately under the pillow.

I slid the key into the locked drawer and turned it slowly, expecting to find a safe spot for the car key. The drawer opened with a soft click, revealing a collection of delicate items. My eyes immediately caught on a bundle of papers—a birth certificate and several baby pictures of Jhoanna, along with snapshots of her as a little girl in the arms of a man and a woman. Normally, as her girlfriend, I might have found these mementos endearing, even comforting. But today, something felt off.

I gently removed the birth certificate from the stack and began to read the name printed on it. As I did, my heart started pounding in my ears. The name was wrong—so deeply wrong that it sent a chill down my spine. I pulled out one of the photos and studied the image of the man holding baby Jhoanna. There was an uncanny familiarity in his face, one I couldn’t shake off, and the weight of the revelation began tearing at me.

In a daze, I remembered the envelope delivered earlier. With trembling hands, I opened it in haste. Inside was another birth certificate—a certificate bearing the name I recognized, the name that we all knew and loved: Jhoanna Robles. My mind reeled as I compared the two documents. The birth certificate in the drawer said

"Jhoanna Valtieri."

I stood there, the envelope clutched tightly in one hand and the mysterious birth certificate in the other, my heart breaking under the weight of the truth. Everything I thought I knew about Jhoanna was being rewritten before my eyes.

In that frozen moment, it hit me: the answer I’d been searching for was right here, laid bare on paper. Yet, fear held me back—I was terrified of the truth. My Jhoanna, our beloved Jhoanna... her father was none other than the scientist who had taken her. The realization shattered me, and I stood there, trembling at the weight of what I now knew.

GWEN 

I sat with Jhoanna in our favorite ice cream parlor, watching her intently as she devoured a mint ice cream. I couldn't help but laugh at her—the way she always insisted on mint, even though no one else in the world would choose it. We’d always teased her about it, and even Stacey, who never joined in our playful banter, would glare at us whenever we made fun of it. Her silent look said it all: she truly adored Jhoanna.

I leaned over and gently wiped the sticky traces from Jho's mouth, smiling at her messy, carefree antics. For a moment, everything felt light and warm. But then, as I looked at her laughing, a sudden heaviness settled over me. I knew that what I was about to do next could shatter everything—could make me lose her, lose everyone I hold dear.

Instead of dreading, I managed to say, "Alis na tayo, Jho?" I stood up, and without hesitation, Jhoanna leaped off her chair—so much like the strong, independent woman she was—and took my hand tightly. With a childlike earnestness, she asked, "Uuwi na ba tayo, ate? Miss ko na ling ling!"

I shook my head slowly and replied, "Hindi muna, may puputnahan muna tayong iba."

Before I could sense her reaction, she exclaimed, "Adventure!" in a burst of enthusiasm that momentarily lifted the weight on my heart. 

In that moment, as her joyful words echoed around us and the soft hum of the parlor filled the space, I felt tears welling up again. I wanted to cry, to let the sorrow pour out for all the uncertainty ahead. I'm so sorry, Jho—so sorry for the path we must now walk, and for the things I know will come after this moment.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver our destination without a second thought. When the car finally stopped, I gathered Jhoanna into my arms and placed her gently on my lap, cherishing every second of this precious closeness. In that moment, a familiar ache surged through me—I'm going to lose her, I'm going to lose everyone I love. My phone vibrated incessantly with calls from the girls, but I ignored the buzzing, focusing solely on the fragile, beautiful moment we had.

Tears began to fall, hot and unbidden, and I quickly wiped them away, unwilling to let anyone see me break. That is, until I noticed Jhoanna reaching for something in her bag. Curious, I leaned in and softly asked, "Ano hinahanap mo?"

Her eyes lit up with a spark of excitement as she replied, "Drawing! Tignan mo, ate!" With her small hands, she pulled out a carefully folded piece of paper and handed it to me. As I unfolded the drawing, my heart skipped a beat. There, on the paper, was a drawing of me—captured in that frantic moment when I had leaped into the car, the time when the kidnappers took them.. The image was raw and vivid, as if it held every heartbeat of that terrified instant.

A smile tugged at my lips as I marveled at how effortlessly she had turned chaos into art. Above the drawing, in her unmistakable handwriting, were the words: "ate Gwen hero." The tender declaration struck me deeply, a bittersweet blend of pride and sorrow. In that drawing, I saw the hero she believed I could be—a version of me who would save the day, who would protect her, no matter what. But it also made me wonder if I could ever truly live up to that ideal, especially knowing what I was planning to do next.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we arrived at the place. As soon as we stepped out of the car, I felt Jhoanna's small frame cling to my legs in fear. The building before us was abandoned, its broken windows and crumbling walls barely visible in the encroaching darkness. The eerie atmosphere sent a chill down my spine, but I knew I had to push forward. With every ounce of strength, I scooped Jhoanna into my arms, feeling her hide her face against my chest as if seeking refuge from the unknown.

The moment we entered the decrepit building, a surge of panic overwhelmed me. I almost turned and ran back out. Men gathered around a long, rickety table—some were smoking, others drinking—and they all stared at us. This was not a place for a child. This was not a place for Jho. I could feel the urge to flee pulsing through me. I could run, I could go back; I just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Jho behind.

As I hesitated on the threshold, frozen in indecision, a deep voice sliced through the silence: "Apuli." I turned to see him. There he was, unmistakable with his scar, leaning on his cane, and his fingers now bare of leather gloves, revealing fresh stitches that looked as if they had been borrowed from someone else's hands. I forced myself to nod at him, trying to appear calm despite the storm raging inside me.

"Dr. Suiren," I managed to reply.

Flashback

"It's working," he declared, his voice cold and unyielding. I crawled back onto the floor, my heart pounding in terror. I could hardly process what I was witnessing—Earlier, Jhoanna, my beloved Jhoanna, has transformed before my eyes, her childish features going back to being an adult, as if she were about to issue a warning that I wasn't ready to hear. But then, she came back to being a child. Like nothing even happened. And then there was Dr. Suiren, standing by the door like a dark omen.

He moved toward me with predatory calm, and before I could even retreat further, he crouched down and grabbed my chin with a grip that was both possessive and chilling. "It's working, my daughter," he said, his eyes burning with a maddening intensity. "She suddenly changed into an adult again, didn't she?"

I could only offer a broken murmur of confusion, my voice lost amid the pounding of my heart. He released my chin and began pacing across the room. Each heavy step sent shivers of dread through me, as though with every movement he threatened to strike.

"Jhoanna, my daughter!" he suddenly screamed, his voice raw and filled with a venom I had never heard before. "If she weren't so reckless, this wouldn't have happened to her. Always running away, never understanding what I'm trying to do—but she can never run away from someone like me. She is mine. She is not yours. She doesn't belong to you all—she belongs with me."

Every word he shouted felt like a blade slicing through the fragile air. The revelation of his claim, the truth he was forcing upon us, was shattering me inside. My chest tightened as his fury escalated with each syllable, leaving me numb and paralyzed by terror.

Then, as abruptly as his rampage had intensified, he stopped right in front of me and crouched down once more. His eyes bore into mine with a desperate, unsettling intensity. "I need you to do something for me," he commanded, his voice low and ominous.

In that moment, I realized that I was caught in a nightmare—one where the person I had trusted had become the embodiment of our darkest fears. And all I could do was wait for his next word, terrified of what my own actions might bring upon us all.

He fixed his gaze on me, his eyes dark and unyielding as he spoke in a low, threatening tone:

"Your girl—no, your ex—if you do not follow what I say or do, I'll give her what I can do. I'll show you what I can do. It's either your lover or your friend; you choose."

Every word he uttered felt like a heavy blow, an ultimatum that sliced through the fragile hope I had been clinging to. My heart pounded so fiercely it was as if it would shatter under the weight of his threat. I could feel the icy grip of fear coiling around me—this was no empty promise, but a cruel decision forced upon me.

I searched his eyes for any sign of uncertainty or hesitation, but found none. His stare was as cold and final as the edge of a razor. In that moment, I was trapped between a love that had always been my anchor and the horrifying possibility of losing her to forces I couldn’t comprehend.

End Of Flashback 

"My daughter," Dr. Suiren declared as he walked closer, his arms spread wide in a gesture that blended command with a twisted tenderness. In that moment, against every instinct and every fiber of my being, I found myself forced to give her to him. Jho resisted—she fought against the inevitable, her eyes swirling with confusion and pain. I couldn't fathom it: she had once adored him, yet now, as I tried to return her, she was crying uncontrollably.

Tears blurred my vision as I tried to push her gently toward Dr. Suiren. Every step felt like a betrayal, every tear a fragment of my shattered heart. When she finally ended up in his arms, I turned away, unable to bear the sight of her surrender. I knew that if I lingered any longer, if I allowed myself one more moment of weakness, I might lose control—and in that uncontrolled state, I might even hurt everyone here in my desperate attempt to reclaim her.

"Ate Gwen!" came a desperate cry behind me, echoing through the tense silence. I closed my eyes tightly as I stepped away, each heartbeat a reminder of what I was losing. In that painful farewell, I could only hope that one day, the wounds of this night would heal, and that somehow, our love could be salvaged from the ruins of this moment.

Flashback

"Jho, dito ka muna. Teka lang." I said, gently urging Jhoanna as I stepped into my room to gather our project materials. When I returned to the living room, I was surprised to see my little brother sitting there. My heart skipped a beat—not only because he was here, but because I saw him signing. Born deaf, my brother may seem imperfect to some, but to me, he is perfect. I worried for a moment that Jhoanna wouldn’t know how to communicate with him, but then she began signing back.

In my haste, I dropped the project materials onto the table. I turned to him and signed, "You go. We have a project to do." His eyes lit up with delight, and he nodded, clearly pleased that someone could sign to him.

I then faced Jhoanna, a hint of astonishment in my voice as I said, "Hindi ko alam na marunong ka," watching her as she helped me gather the scattered materials. With a gentle smile, she replied, "Hindi naman talaga, kaso nabanggit kasi ni Shee na may kapatid ka ngang may problema sa tenga. Nagpaturo ako sa kanya, the least thing I could do."

Hearing that, my heart ached. Not everyone was so kind when it came to him, but Jhoanna—Jhoanna was incredible. I managed a soft, sincere, "Thank you," feeling a deep gratitude for her willingness to bridge the gap between us.

In that quiet moment, surrounded by the clatter of our project and the silent communication of sign language, I was reminded once more of the small, beautiful acts of kindness that held us together—even when the world seemed so unforgiving.

End of Flashback 

I eventually got far enough from the building, and then I dropped to the ground—unable to hold back the pain any longer. I let my tears fall freely, each one a release of the guilt and sorrow that had been building inside me. Frantically, I scrambled through my pockets until I found the drawing she had made for me—a delicate piece of art that once symbolized hope and our shared dreams. Clutching it tightly as if it were the only thing that could keep me from falling apart completely, I whispered through the trembling haze, "I'm sorry, Jho. I didn't mean to."

In that raw, vulnerable moment, every regret and every broken promise surged through me, and that small drawing became both my burden and my solace—a bittersweet reminder of everything I wished I could fix if only I could turn back time.

Chapter Text

Gwen arrived home late into the night. The house was dimly lit, the air heavy with something unspoken. As she stepped inside, the girls were already gathered in the living room, their faces a mix of worry and anticipation.

Mikha was the first to stand, her phone still gripped tightly in her hand, evidence of the dozens of unanswered calls and messages. "Gwen, saan kayo galing? Bakit ‘di ka sumasagot?!" Her voice was firm, but the shake in it betrayed her concern.

Sheena, who had been sitting quietly at the corner of the couch, turned her head towards Gwen, her brows furrowed. “Nasaan si Jho?”

The moment her name was spoken, Gwen felt her throat close up. Jho. Her Jho. Her little sunshine who had only wanted to live a normal life, who had fought so hard to escape the chains of her past. Gwen felt the weight of the drawing in her pocket, the crumpled paper almost burning against her skin.

She didn't answer. She couldn’t.

Stacey, who had been standing near the kitchen counter, took a deep breath before finally speaking, her voice more solemn than it had ever been. "Gwen... alam na namin."

Gwen finally looked up, her tired eyes meeting Stacey’s. There was no relief in knowing they had figured it out—only pain.

"We know about her father. We know about what happened to her, why they took her, bakit siya hinabol-habol." Stacey swallowed, forcing the words out, as if saying them aloud would make it less horrific. "Jho... she was running away from something so much bigger than we ever knew."

Gwen let out a shaky breath. She should be relieved that they finally understood, that they finally saw the weight Jho had been carrying all this time. But instead, all she felt was devastation.

Because now, there was nothing left to hide.

Because now, Jho was gone.

She took a step forward, her legs barely holding her up, her hands trembling as she reached for the couch. Maloi rushed to her side, steadying her. “Gwen…?”

And that was when they saw it—the brokenness in her eyes, the way her body seemed to cave in on itself, as if she was carrying the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.

Sheena repeated the question, her voice cracking, "Gwen, asan si Jho?"

The weight of her words settled heavily in the room, but no one spoke right away. It was only now that they truly noticed—there was no Jho.

Colet perked up, glancing around. “Iniwan mo ba siya sa labas? Bakit mo naman—” She trailed off as she started walking toward the door, already reaching for the knob, ready to bring Jho inside.

But before she could take another step, Gwen shook her head. “Wala si Jho sa baba.”

Aiah frowned, crossing her arms. “Edi asan? Baka gutom na ‘yun.”

That was when Gwen broke.

Her knees buckled, her hands trembled, and before she could stop herself, the sob she had been holding back finally tore through her chest.

Sheena was quick to react, her hands immediately reaching for her ex, holding her shoulders tightly. “Gwen, ano meron?” she asked, her voice suddenly gentler, but laced with urgency. “Nakuha ba siya? Sabihin mo, kaya natin ‘to. Makakagawa tayo ng paraan.”

But Gwen didn’t respond. She just shook her head, gasping for air, her entire body shaking.

That was when Mikha pushed past Sheena, her grip firm as she held Gwen’s shoulders instead, forcing her to meet her gaze.

“Gwen, umayos ka. Ano nangyari?”

Her voice wasn’t gentle anymore—it was desperate. Demanding.

Gwen looked at all of them, their faces filled with worry, anger, and fear. They were waiting. They were counting on her to say that everything was okay, that she had things under control.

But she couldn’t.

Because Jho was gone.

And she was the one who let her go.

Tears streamed down Gwen’s face as she opened her mouth, but no words came out at first. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to say it—to let the truth finally break free.

“I gave her back,” she whispered.

Silence crashed into the room like a tidal wave.

No one moved. No one even breathed.

Then, finally, Sheena spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “…Anong ibig mong sabihin?”

Gwen let out a strangled sob, her body crumbling under the weight of her guilt.

“I gave her back,” she repeated, her voice shaking. “Binigay ko siya sa kanya. Sa tatay niya.”

But it was Sheena who shattered first.

“HINDI.” Sheena’s voice cracked as she violently shook her head, her breathing uneven. “Hindi mo ginawa ‘yon. Hindi mo pwedeng gawin ‘yon.”

Gwen could only sob harder, clutching her chest like she was trying to hold herself together, but it was useless. She had already fallen apart.

“I had no choice,” she choked out. “Sabi niya… kung hindi ko siya ibibigay, sasaktan ka niya, Shee. Mahal ko si Jho. Hindi niyo alam kung ilang araw akong nagkulong sa putanginang lab na 'yon para lang makahanap ng solusyon para sa kanya… pero ikaw na 'yon, Shee. Ikaw na 'yon. Hindi ko kaya. Hindi ko kayang mawala ka rin."

Sheena staggered back as if Gwen had physically hit her, her hands trembling.

"You should've fought," Mikha whispered, her voice low, trembling. "You should've told us. We could've done something."

The words hit Gwen like a punch to the gut. Her head spun. Mikha was supposed to be angry—furious, screaming, tearing her apart—but she wasn’t. Her voice wavered, fragile, like she wasn’t accusing Gwen but pleading with her. Like she was begging Gwen to take it back, to change what had already been done.

It would’ve been easier if Mikha had yelled. If she had hated her.

"I—" Gwen tried to speak, but her voice cracked and crumbled before she could form the words. She shook her head, as if trying to shake off the suffocating weight pressing down on her chest. "Hindi ko kaya… hindi ko kaya…"

She felt like she was drowning. The guilt, the regret, the pain—it was swallowing her whole, dragging her down into something dark and inescapable.

And then, through the suffocating silence, another voice cut through.

"…Gwen."

Colet.

Her voice wasn’t loud, wasn’t sharp—but that only made it worse. It was hollow. Empty. Like something inside her had broken beyond repair.

"Jho trusted you."

Gwen’s breath caught in her throat.

She would've rather had Colet scream at her, shove her, hit her—anything but this. Anything but that voice, that quiet, lifeless voice, like she had already given up on her. Like she wasn’t even worth the anger.

She wanted none of this. She wanted to run. To disappear. To undo everything.

But there was no escaping it.

That was it.

That was the final blow.

Stacey stormed toward Gwen, her vision blurred with rage and tears, and slapped her. The sharp crack echoed in the room, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. She lunged again, but the others held her back, their arms wrapping around her trembling frame as she thrashed against them.

She wanted to hurt Gwen. She needed to hurt her.

Because Gwen had made it look easy.

It was easy for her to give Jho away.

So it had to be easy to hurt her too.

Tears streamed down Stacey’s face, her breath ragged, her words spilling out between broken sobs.

"Hindi mo ba naisip kung ano man lang yung gagawin ni Jho para sa’yo? Kung siya yung nasa posisyon mo ngayon?" Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. "Gwen, lahat gagawin ‘non! Para lang hindi ka mapahamak! Para lang walang masaktan sa atin!"

Her chest ached, her heart tearing apart at the seams.

"Gwen, girlfriend ko yung binigay mo! Kaibigan mo yung binigay mo! Kaibigan niyo!"

Then, with all the venom left in her, she spat out the words that cut even herself:

"Ipapakulong kita!" Stacey’s voice was a raw, shaking scream. "Kapag nakuha na namin si Jho, sisiguraduhin kong kasama ka!"

Every word was a dagger, each syllable sharper than the last. She didn't mean them— God, she didn't mean them —but what else was left for her to do? The love of her life had been given away , ripped from her grasp, thrown into danger again .

Aiah’s voice suddenly rang through the suffocating air.

"Stacey, please, stop."

But Gwen barely heard her.

She turned her head, searching—desperate—until her gaze landed on Sheena.

And Sheena… looked away.

Gwen felt something inside her shatter.

The person she had been willing to sacrifice everything for—the person she had given Jho away for—couldn’t even look at her.

And that, more than anything else, was what truly destroyed her.

Gwen met Colet’s gaze, and for a second, the world around her blurred. Out of everyone in the room, Colet was the last person she expected to stay quiet .

Mikha’s voice had wavered, Stacey had screamed, but Colet—Colet just stood there . Watching her. Studying her.

That silence was worse than the shouting.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"Gwen, pasok ka muna sa loob. Pahinga ka muna."

Her voice was eerily calm, but it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command.

Before Gwen could respond, a sharp, humorless laugh cut through the air.

"Anong magpapahinga? Gago ‘yan, oh!" Stacey’s voice was raw, shaking with rage. Her hands trembled at her sides, her body still straining forward as if she wanted to lunge again. Like she would’ve torn Gwen apart if the others weren’t holding her back.

But Colet didn’t react.

She repeated herself. The same words. The same tone. Unwavering.

And Gwen listened.

She turned away, her steps slow, heavy. She didn’t know why she was obeying—maybe because she had no fight left in her. Maybe because, for the first time since this started, she was afraid .

Afraid of them .

Afraid of what she had done .

Even Stacey, for all her fury, hesitated under Colet’s voice. There was something terrifying in it—something final. It was the kind of authority that made even grief pause, made even rage feel small.

The girls, thinking Stacey had finally calmed down, loosened their grip.

Big mistake.

Stacey broke free .

And she ran.

Straight for the bedroom.

Straight for her .

The room exploded into chaos. Desperate hands grabbed at Stacey’s arms, bodies crashed against hers, stopping her just before she reached the door.

"Stacey, ano ba—!"

But Stacey wasn’t listening. She wasn’t thinking .

She kicked. She clawed. She fought like a wild animal, like the only thing left in her was rage and grief and the need to make Gwen pay .

For Jho.

For everything.

And then—

"Pag hindi pa kayo nakaupo lahat ng maayos sa pagbilang ko ng sampu—"

Colet’s voice didn’t just cut through the chaos.

It crushed it.

"Ibibigay ko din kayo sa tatay ni Jho."

Silence.

Heavy. Crushing. Terrifying.

They knew Colet would never do it.

But they also knew—

Colet could do something worse.

One by one, they obeyed. Their movements slow, stiff, as if their bodies no longer belonged to them. Some sank onto the couch, others onto the floor, knees drawn to their chests. No one spoke. No one even dared to breathe too loudly .

They looked like scolded children. But it wasn’t just guilt keeping them there.

It was fear .

Behind the door, Gwen pressed her back against the wood, her breath shaky, her hands curled into fists.

She had thought the worst was over.

But now, standing there, with Stacey’s screams still ringing in her ears—

She realized something.

This wasn’t over.

This wasn’t even close to over.

This was just the beginning of the hell she had brought upon herself.

Colet stood over the girls, her eyes scanning each of them, taking in the way their hands shook, the way their shoulders rose and fell unevenly with every ragged breath. They were crumbling, barely holding themselves together, and the truth was—so was she. She didn’t know what to do next, didn’t have a plan, didn’t have the right words. But someone had to stay in control. Someone had to be the calm, even if it was just an illusion.

Because the storm wasn’t just coming—it was already on the horizon, dark and inevitable, waiting for the right moment to crash down on them. And if they kept tearing at each other like this, if they let their emotions run unchecked, they wouldn’t stand a chance when it hit.

A part of her wanted to shut down, to close her eyes and pretend that when she opened them, everything would be back to the way it was. That Jho would be sitting beside them, rolling her eyes at their bickering, laughing at something dumb Stacey said, pulling them in for a hug just because she could. But that wasn’t their reality. Jho wasn’t here. And until they got her back, nothing would ever feel normal again.

Colet pushed the ache in her chest down and straightened her posture, forcing strength into her voice even as exhaustion weighed on her bones.

“Sa nangyayari sa atin ngayon, tingin niyo makukuha pa natin si Jho?” Her voice was firm, but there was an edge to it, a quiet frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Away ng away, sigawan ng sigawan! Mababalik ba niyan yung girlfriend mo, Stacey?”

The room was suffocatingly silent.

Stacey, who just moments ago had been thrashing and screaming, now sat frozen, her tear-streaked face turned away. No one moved. No one spoke.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, it seemed like the weight of everything was finally sinking in.

"Eh kung girlfriend mo kaya ibigay ko—!"

Mikha lunged before she even realized what she was doing. Her hands grabbed onto Stacey’s collar, her grip tightening as her entire body trembled with anger. Aiah was there in an instant, trying to pull her away, but Mikha wasn’t listening. She couldn’t.

She wasn’t thinking—only feeling .

And all she felt was rage.

She could barely hear Aiah’s frantic pleas for her to stop, barely register the hands on her arms trying to break them apart. All she could hear was Stacey’s voice, still spitting venom, still throwing words that cut deeper than knives. Stacey wasn’t backing down. She wasn’t afraid. She didn’t care that Mikha’s fingers were pressing against her throat.

"Ano? Gusto mo si Ate Aiah din—!"

Mikha snapped.

Her nails dug into Stacey’s shirt, and when she spoke, her voice was low, shaking with barely restrained fury.

"Pag tinuloy mo pa ‘yan, ikaw ibibigay namin doon. Si Jho ibabalik namin, pero ikaw? Hindi." Her hands clenched tighter. "Wag na wag mong pagsasalitaan ng ganyan si Maloi. Lalo na si Aiah."

Stacey went rigid, her jaw tightening, but this time, she didn’t respond. For a split second, it was as if the fight had drained out of her. Or maybe she was just realizing the weight of what she had said.

Then, Colet moved.

She walked toward them, her presence enough to shift the tension in the room. She didn’t speak right away, just placed a firm hand on Mikha’s shoulder. It wasn’t rough or forceful—just steady. A silent order. Let it go.

Mikha’s body was still trembling, but she let her hands fall away, stepping back without a word. It wasn’t like her. The others knew it. Normally, she would’ve needed to be held back, to be dragged away kicking and screaming. But Colet’s presence alone was enough.

And that was what scared them.

Because this Colet—the one standing there, composed, unaffected—wasn’t the Colet they knew. Colet was the one who fought first, who acted before she thought, who never let a slight go unanswered. But now? She was just standing there, watching them.

Calm.

Too calm.

And then she turned to Stacey.

"Naiintindihan kita, Stacey." Her voice was quiet, but it carried through the room, firm and certain. "Naiintindihan ko kung bakit ka nagkakaganyan." She exhaled, shaking her head just slightly before continuing. "Pero hindi kami yung kaaway mo dito. Kami yung kakampi mo."

Stacey’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Her breathing was uneven, her face streaked with tears, but she didn’t respond. Maybe she wanted to. Maybe she had a million more things to say, a million more things to scream.

But for the first time, there was nothing left.

"Hindi natin makukuha si Jho kung ganito tayo." Colet’s voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable sharpness to it, cutting through the heavy silence that had settled over them. "The more we waste time, the more we scream at each other, the more we fight, the more we hurt each other, the more we give that goddamn doctor a chance to hurt her. To hurt Jho."

The weight of her words settled in the air, suffocating, undeniable. No one moved. No one dared to argue.

Then, Colet turned to Sheena.

She was sitting with her head down, her fingers gripping the fabric of her own sleeves so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. She hadn’t spoken much, hadn’t screamed like the others, but the way she was shutting down—it was just as loud.

"Bunso," Colet called gently, waiting for Sheena to look up. When she didn’t, Colet took a step closer, her voice softening, but never losing its strength. "Kung ano man yung ginawa ni Gwen, sana alam mong para lahat ‘yon sayo."

Sheena's shoulders tensed. Her fingers curled even tighter into her sleeves.

"Pinoprotektahan ka lang naman nung tao," Colet continued, her tone firm, unwavering. "Wala siyang choice. Masakit din para sa akin na marinig na ginawa niya ‘yon, pero sa totoo lang…" She took a slow breath, her chest tightening at the truth she was about to say. "Wag na tayong magkunwari. We would've done the same too if we had no choice."

Sheena let out a shaky breath, her eyes squeezing shut.

She knew it was true.

They all did.

But the truth didn’t make it hurt any less.

And that was the worst part of it all.

"Kaya please, nagmamakaawa ako," Colet’s voice cracked slightly, the exhaustion creeping in despite the firm edge in her tone. "Umayos na kayong lahat. Subukan niyo man lang sana intindihin si Gwen, kasi nahihirapan din yun."

She looked around, her gaze lingering on each of them—on their tear-streaked faces, their clenched fists, the way grief and anger sat so heavily on their shoulders that it felt like the room itself would collapse under the weight of it all.

"Masakit din naman para sa kanya yung ginawa niya. Lalo ka na, Stacey." Colet’s voice softened, but it didn’t waver. "Mahal ni Gwen si Jho. Naipit lang siya sa sitwasyong wala siyang kawala, kaya niya yun ginawa. Kaya ngayon…" She took a breath, steadying herself before continuing, "gagawa na tayo ng paraan para ibalik si Jho."

A silence fell over them. A different kind this time. Not the unbearable, suffocating silence of earlier, but something more fragile. More uncertain.

In reality, the words Colet had spoken weren’t anything new. They weren’t revelations. They weren’t groundbreaking.

They were thoughts that had already existed in their minds—unspoken, buried beneath the chaos of anger and betrayal. Because no matter how much they wanted to scream, to blame, to lash out at Gwen, they knew . They knew she hadn’t done it out of malice. They knew she hadn’t wanted this. They knew she had no choice.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

Because it wasn’t just Jho they were losing. It felt like they were losing Gwen too.

And for Sheena, it was unbearable.

She had understood Gwen from the moment she had explained everything, had seen the pain in her eyes, the way her voice had cracked, how her body had looked like it was carrying a weight far too heavy for her to bear.

But Gwen had done it for her .

And the more Sheena thought about it, the more that truth settled into her bones like ice.

It wasn’t Gwen’s fault.

It was hers.

She was the reason Gwen had to make that choice. The reason Jho was taken. The reason they were all falling apart.

And no matter what anyone said, no matter how much she tried to push it away, she couldn't silence the voice in her head whispering the one thing she feared the most—

If Gwen had to choose between you and Jho all over again, would she still make the same choice?

Colet exhaled, straightening her shoulders, forcing herself to be the anchor they needed. “Matulog muna kayong lahat. May plano na ako. Babalik na lang ako.” Her voice was steady, unwavering, but the exhaustion clung to her like a shadow. Then, she turned slightly, nodding toward Mikha. “Sasamahan ako ni Mikhs. ‘Wag kayong mag-alala.”

Mikha stepped forward without hesitation, her loyalty a silent vow. But before they could even take a step toward the door, the others moved.

The resistance was immediate. Voices overlapped, concern spilling from their lips faster than they could think. Fear lingered in their eyes, unspoken but undeniable. The last time they let someone walk out that door, Jho had been taken. The last time, Gwen had come back a stranger.

Colet didn’t flinch. “We’re just going to talk to people we need, people that can help us,” she assured them, her tone firm. But even as the words left her mouth, she saw the doubt written all over their faces.

Mikha sighed, running a hand through her hair before stepping in. “Wala talagang mangyayari sa amin. Hindi ko rin alam kung anong balak ni Colet, pero pinagkakatiwalaan ko siya. At ngayon, kailangan naming pagkatiwalaan niyo rin kami.” Her voice softened, but it didn’t lose its strength. “Promise namin na pagbalik namin, we have a solid plan para mailigtas si Jho.”

The room was heavy with silence. The weight of everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the desperate hope—pressed down on them. Then, Maloi and Aiah shot to their feet, crossing the space in seconds, wrapping Colet and Mikha in tight embraces.

Neither of them said anything at first, just held on, just breathed each other in.

Then, Maloi whispered, her voice barely above a breath, “Babalik kayo, ‘di ba?”

Colet nodded, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Babalik kami.”

But what if they weren’t just leaving to make a plan?

What if, unknowingly, they were walking straight into war?

Colet and Mikha stepped out the door, the weight of everything dragging behind them like chains. The air outside was thick—too thick, too suffocating. But Colet kept walking, her strides sharp, purposeful. She headed straight for her car, not Mikha’s. A small, silent decision that neither of them acknowledged.

Mikha followed.

The moment they slipped inside, silence swallowed them whole.

Colet didn’t start the engine.

She just sat there, her fingers curling around the wheel, gripping it so tight her nails dug into the leather. The silence stretched, heavy, unbearable. And yet, Mikha didn’t dare break it.

Then—

A shuddering breath. A crack in the dam.

The first punch landed hard against the wheel. Then another. And another. And another.

The hits were violent, erratic, desperate—until her entire body trembled with the force of her grief. Until the gasps turned into sobs, raw and broken. Until the weight of everything finally crushed her.

"Si Jho…" Colet's voice cracked like glass, her chest heaving. "Hindi ko siya naprotektahan…"

She hit the wheel again, but her strength was fading. The punches turned into weak slaps, her hands shaking as they fell uselessly onto her lap.

Mikha moved without thinking. She reached out, prying Colet’s trembling fingers from the wheel, ignoring the way her friend flinched at the touch.

And then, she pulled her in.

Colet didn’t resist.

She collapsed against Mikha’s shoulder, her entire body wracked with silent, gut-wrenching sobs. The kind of crying that didn’t come with sound—just shaking, just struggling to breathe, just breaking apart in someone else’s arms.

Mikha closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against the top of Colet’s head, holding her close, steadying her. She hated this version of Colet—the one who swallowed her pain whole, who buried it deep until it rotted inside her.

She would rather have the Colet who yelled, who threw fists, who fought— not this Colet.

Not the Colet who suffered in silence.

“Si Jho… si Gwen…” Colet’s voice came out in fragments, like shattered pieces of glass.

Mikha said nothing.

She just held her, the way she always did.

The way she had since they were kids, when Colet would come to her in the middle of the night, bruised and broken from her father’s rage. When she would cling to Mikha like she was the only thing keeping her together.

And just like back then, Mikha shushed her softly, rocking her slightly, grounding her.

"Shhh… Nandito lang ako…'"

She couldn't promise things would be okay.

But at least, in this moment, Colet didn't have to fall apart alone.

JHOANNA 

When I opened my eyes, it felt like I had been drowning for an eternity—like I had been trapped underwater, lungs burning, limbs weightless, until I was dragged back to the surface, gasping for air.

Except there was no air.

Only pain.

The second I tried to move, agony tore through me like fire licking at my skin. My breath hitched, a muffled whimper escaping past the cloth stuffed into my mouth, choking me in silence. I looked down, and my stomach lurched.

Chains.

Thick, rusted metal wound around my arms, my legs, my shoulders— too tight, too heavy , suffocating me. It felt like they were sinking into my bones, crushing the very breath out of me. The weight of them pressed down, making it impossible to move, impossible to fight, impossible to breathe. My fingers twitched weakly, the only part of me I could still control, but even that felt foreign—like my body was no longer my own.

Everything hurt.

My head throbbed. My limbs ached. My chest felt hollow, as if something inside me had been ripped apart and pieced back together wrong.

How long had I been here?

Days? Weeks? It all blurred together in this prison of darkness and agony.

And then the question clawed its way into my mind, chilling me to my very core—

Was my father successful?

Did the experiment work?

What had he done to me?

Or worse—was I already dying ?

I wanted to scream, to beg, to fight—but I couldn’t. The weight of exhaustion crushed me down, heavier than the chains wrapped around my body.

I just wanted to go home. Please. I just wanted to go back. Back to the warmth of their voices, their laughter, their arms around me. Back to the girls. Back to the only family I ever had.

But deep inside, a sickening fear took root.

What if I never did?

What if I was already too far gone?

The door creaked open, and instantly, a blinding light flooded the room. I squeezed my eyes shut, the sudden brightness burning through my skull like needles piercing my brain. When I forced them open, my breath caught in my throat.

My father.

Every muscle in my body locked in terror. I wanted to recoil, to disappear, to run —but I couldn’t. The most I could muster was a weak shake of my head, a pathetic, broken whimper slipping past the cloth gagging my mouth. I didn’t care how obvious it was that I was afraid. I was afraid. He had always been my nightmare, the kind that never faded with morning light.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, a sick smile curling on his lips.

"It worked again." His voice was laced with satisfaction. "You turned back into an adult."

If I weren’t so consumed by fear, I might have furrowed my brows in confusion. But I had no strength left—not even for that.

He reached out, fingers cold as death as they gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. I couldn’t fight it. My body felt like dead weight.

"Did you know you managed to run away again?" he mused, voice eerily calm, like he was discussing a fascinating experiment. "Remember that little injection? It worked. You really did turn into a child. And somehow, you escaped . Your friends were able to find you.”

My breath hitched. My eyes widened in shock.

I escaped ?

Then why was I back here?

My heart slammed against my ribs, a sickening realization creeping in like ice in my veins.

The girls.

Did they get caught? Did they hurt them?

Panic surged through me, raw and all-consuming. I started shaking my head frantically, desperate, whimpering against the gag, trying to force the words out— please, please, tell me they’re safe.

My father chuckled, a cruel, knowing sound. "Trying to say something?"

Without warning, he ripped the cloth from my mouth. Air flooded my lungs so fast it hurt. I gasped, saliva spilling down my chin as I coughed and sputtered, throat raw, mind reeling.

And then I screamed.

"What did you do to them?!" My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. I used every ounce of strength I had left, every shred of desperation clawing at my chest.

"What did you do to the girls?!"

The room fell silent.

And my father just smiled .

"I didn’t do anything to them," my father said, his voice laced with amusement, like he was sharing some cruel joke. "But I did have fun playing with them."

A slow, suffocating dread clawed its way up my throat.

"Your friends are so gullible ," he continued, savoring every word, stretching them out like a blade dragging against skin. Then, with a smile that made my stomach churn, he added, "I must say, I rather enjoyed finally meeting my daughter's girlfriend, too."

Something inside me snapped.

A raw, guttural scream tore from my lips. I lunged forward, but the chains yanked me back, digging into my skin, biting down to the bone. My wrists burned, my shoulders ached, but I didn’t care.

"Putangina mo!" I spat, voice breaking, thick with rage and desperation. " Ibabalik ko lahat ng kaputanginahan mo sa’yo! Lahat! "

But he just stood there, watching me unravel with that same twisted, satisfied smirk.

"I don’t think your threats mean much anymore," he murmured, tilting his head like he was fond of my suffering. "You’re back where you belong. With me ."

A deep, sickening silence settled between us.

Then—

"And I’m not the only one who’s going to make sure of that."

The door groaned open behind him.

The air shifted.

And for the first time since waking up in this hellhole, I wished I had never opened my eyes.

A figure stepped through the doorway.

I felt my pulse stop.

The world tilted, nausea rising so fast I nearly choked on it. My breath came in sharp, uneven gasps.

No.

No. No. No.

I turned back to my father, my entire body trembling, my vision swimming in disbelief. I searched his face, desperate— begging —for a sign that this was a lie. A trick. A hallucination.

But his grin only widened.

This wasn’t a nightmare.

It was worse.

It was real.

A broken whisper slipped from my lips, barely audible, strangled with devastation.

"You?"

Chapter Text

SHEENA

When Colet and Mikha left, none of us even glanced at Gwen’s door. No one spoke about her, no one checked on her—we just let the silence stretch, let the weight of everything settle over us like a suffocating fog. We couldn’t bring ourselves to face her, not yet. Maybe not ever.

But I understood. I understood why she did what she did. More than anyone, I knew. And if Stacey needed someone to break, if she needed to scream, to hit, to blame—I should be the one standing in front of her, not Gwen. It was because of me. All of this was because of me.

I sit at the kitchen counter, my fingers gripping the edge so tightly my knuckles turn white. I can't sleep. How could I, when Jho is out there, trapped in their hands? The thought alone is enough to make my stomach churn, my chest ache with something close to nausea. Every second that passes feels like another nail hammered into my ribs. What is she feeling right now? Is she scared? Is she crying? Does she think we gave up on her?

I glance at the living room and for a brief second, my heart clenches at the sight. The girls—Maloi, Aiah, and Stacey—ended up sleeping on the floor, huddled together in a tangled mess of limbs. Stacey is crushed between them, as if they’re trying to hold her together, keep her from completely falling apart. Even in sleep, Maloi’s arm is wrapped around her tightly, and Aiah’s hand rests near hers, like a silent reassurance that she’s not alone.

It’s almost peaceful. Almost.

But I know better. Because no matter how close we huddle together, no matter how much we try to comfort each other—Jho isn’t here. And until she is, none of us will ever truly rest.

My focus wavered when I felt something soft brush against my leg, followed by a quiet, desperate purr. I looked down, and there she was—Jho’s cat, Lingling.

She tilted her head up at me, her big, round eyes searching, almost pleading. She had already eaten earlier, but I knew this wasn’t about food.

She was looking for Jhoanna.

A lump formed in my throat as I bent down, scooping her up gently. She nuzzled into my chest, her small body warm, familiar, a heartbreaking reminder of who we were missing. My fingers ran through her fur, slow and comforting, and she purred louder, pressing closer, as if she was trying to find Jho’s scent on me.

She was the closest thing we had of Jho right now.

I swallowed hard, pressing my lips to the top of her head, whispering, “We’ll get her back, don’t worry.”

My voice shook.

Lingling let out a soft sound, as if she understood, before I set her down. She hesitated for a moment before padding over to the others, curling up beside Stacey, Maloi, and Aiah, pressing herself into their warmth like she belonged there.

I exhaled shakily, my chest tightening as I tore my gaze away and looked toward Gwen’s door.

It was time.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my feet to move, forcing myself to gather the strength I’d been avoiding for hours. Gwen hadn’t left that room since Colet told her to go inside. She must’ve been terrified to even step out. The thought of her curled up alone, afraid, shattered something deep inside me.

I stopped in front of the door, raising my hand to knock—only to freeze when I heard it. Sobs.

She was still crying. After all these hours.

My Gwen.

I didn’t bother knocking. I just pushed the door open, Gwen looked at me like I was a ghost—like she couldn’t believe I was real, like she was bracing for the moment I’d disappear or worse, the moment I’d tear into her just like everyone else had. Her eyes, red and swollen, darted to the door as if she was expecting someone else to walk in, someone ready to scream at her, to throw more blame onto her already breaking shoulders.

She didn’t expect me.

She didn’t expect softness.

And that made my chest ache so violently I thought I would collapse from the sheer weight of it.

She sat at the edge of the bed, her hands shaking, clenched into the fabric of her pants like she was trying to hold herself together. The sight of her like this, the girl I loved—loved with everything I was—curled in on herself, drowning in guilt, barely holding on… it destroyed me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, but it didn’t go away.

I forced my feet to move.

I sat beside her, close enough to feel the way her breath caught, how she flinched at the movement, like she was bracing herself for a hit that would never come. That broke me even more.

The silence between us was deafening.

I wanted to say so much—to ask her why she let herself carry this alone, why she thought she had to be the villain in a story none of us could control. I wanted to scream, to cry, to demand why the world was so unfair to her, why it forced her to make a choice that was never hers to make.

But all that came out was, “Sorry.”

She stiffened beside me.

Her fingers tightened in her lap.

I could see her confusion in the corner of my eye, the way her brows furrowed, like she didn’t understand why I would be apologizing when she was the one everyone blamed.

"Sorry," I repeated, and my voice cracked, shaking with everything I had been holding in. "You were forced to do it. Because he had something against you." I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. "And that something… that something was me."

Gwen inhaled sharply, but she didn’t speak.

"He didn’t break you, Gwen," I whispered, voice raw, heavy, barely making it past my lips. "It was me."

She turned toward me, her eyes wide, stunned. She shook her head, opening her mouth to protest, but I didn’t let her.

"Because you had to choose!" My voice rose, my breath coming out in a heaving gasp. "You had to choose, Gwen! And you shouldn't have chosen me!" My throat burned. My chest ached. My entire body trembled under the weight of it. "Because I don’t deserve it! I don’t deserve you! I will never deserve you!" My voice broke completely. "I will never deserve anything good!"

And then, just like that, everything inside me shattered.

A sob ripped through my chest, so violent I felt my ribs shake under the force of it.

I broke.

Right there, in front of her, I broke.

I didn’t care anymore.

I didn’t care if I looked weak, if I looked desperate, if I looked like someone who had already lost too much. Because I had.

I had lost too much.

Jho was gone.

Gwen was slipping away.

And I—I was barely holding on.

My body curled in on itself as I gasped for air that didn’t feel like enough, as if grief itself was closing its fingers around my throat, squeezing tighter, tighter, tighter—

And then, warmth.

Arms wrapped around me, hesitant but firm.

Gwen.

She was holding me.

Like I was something fragile, something that needed protection.

Like she wasn’t the one who had been left to bleed alone.

Like she wasn’t the one drowning in guilt that was never hers to carry.

I clung to her, my fingers fisting the fabric of her shirt, my face pressed into her shoulder, breathing her in. I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t stop crying.

I wasn’t just crying for Jho.

I wasn’t just crying for everything that had happened.

I was crying because I missed her.

I missed her so much it felt like my heart was being ripped apart inside my chest.

I missed her scent, the faint trace of coffee and fabric softener.

I missed the way she’d roll her eyes but smile when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I missed the way she’d tuck her hair behind her ears when she was nervous.

I missed the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating, the way she mumbled under her breath when she was lost in thought.

Flashback 

I had never been afraid of silence before.

But at that moment, standing there, staring at Gwen as her words settled between us like a weight too heavy to carry, I realized silence could be the loudest thing in the world.

My hands went limp, the flower I had carefully picked, the small gift wrapped neatly in paper, and the Marvel figurine she had excitedly mentioned weeks ago—all slipping from my grasp, hitting the floor with a quiet sound that somehow felt deafening.

I had been so sure.

For five months, we had settled into something soft, something unspoken but understood—a place between friendship and something deeper, something undeniable. She had confessed, and we agreed to take things slow. It wasn’t that we were unsure of each other. No, we both knew exactly where our hearts stood.

I thought we were just waiting for the right moment.

I thought that moment was now.

"Shee, hindi ko pa pala kaya. Hindi pa pala ako handa."

My breath hitched. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, each thump growing heavier, slower, like my body was struggling to process what she had just said.

Her voice wavered, uncertain, but the impact of her words didn’t falter. They hit me straight in the chest, knocking the air out of my lungs.

The smile I had been wearing only seconds ago, the one filled with so much anticipation, so much love, disappeared. My fingers curled into my palms, empty now, cold.

"Anong hindi mo pa pala kaya, Gwen?"

Her name tasted foreign on my tongue.

For months, it had only ever been sweet endearments. But now? It felt like something distant, something slipping away before I could even grasp it.

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with something I couldn’t immediately place. It wasn’t indifference—no, I knew her too well for that. It wasn’t anger or regret either.

It was guilt.

It was love, trapped beneath guilt so heavy, she was choosing to let me go because of it.

"In those five months, I loved you, Shee. I still do, but I can't. I can't keep up with you."

My stomach twisted painfully.

"You keep giving me a whole lot more, while I? I kept giving you half. Ni hindi nga kita ma-message ng maayos kung nasaan ako, diba? Lagi lang kita pinapahirapan, Shee."

It was then that I realized… this wasn’t just her breaking up with me.

This was Gwen punishing herself.

This was her believing that loving me wasn’t enough. That was because she couldn’t give as much as I did, because she couldn’t match me in the way she thought she was supposed to, she was choosing to walk away before I could realize she wasn’t what I deserved.

But what she didn’t understand was— she had always been enough.

I had never once asked her for more.

I had never once wanted anything but her.

And yet, she was telling me this as if I had been carrying the weight of our relationship alone, as if she hadn’t been holding me together in ways she didn’t even realize.

God, how had we ended up here?

How had I let her think that I ever wanted more than what she could give?

I wanted to scream, to tell her she was wrong, that she had been giving me everything, even in the smallest of ways. That I never cared about how many texts she sent, or how often she told me where she was.

That she was the only thing I had ever wanted.

But the words wouldn’t come out.

Because she had already decided.

Because in her mind, she had already lost me.

And the worst part?

I never even saw it coming.

"Shee, you deserve so much more."

Her voice was quiet, but it sliced through me like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.

I stood there, frozen, my hands trembling at my sides as silent tears traced burning paths down my cheeks. My throat tightened, my breath coming in shallow gasps, but I forced myself to speak—to plead.

"Gwen, kung takot ka sa label… kahit wala na tayong label, okay lang sa akin, wag mo lang ako iwan."

My voice cracked, but I didn’t care.

I didn’t care about anything anymore except stopping her from walking away.

And when she wouldn’t answer—when all she did was look at me with that same heartbreaking guilt in her eyes—I felt my knees give out beneath me.

I collapsed.

I let myself fall, the weight of my desperation pulling me to the ground.

I reached for her hands, gripping them tightly, pressing them against my face as if holding her like this could keep her from slipping away. She gasped, trying to pull me up, but I wouldn’t move.

I wouldn’t move until she promised me she wasn’t leaving.

"Shee—"

"If you want me to be less, I'll be less," I whispered, voice hoarse, raw. "If you want me to be more, I'll be more. Tell me how you want things. Tell me. Just—" My breath hitched, and the sob I had been trying to swallow finally broke free.

"Just don’t leave, love."

My body trembled as I held onto her like a lifeline, like the thought of her slipping away would tear me apart piece by piece until there was nothing left of me.

Because maybe that was the truth.

Maybe if Gwen left, I wouldn’t know who I was without her.

She was my heart, my home, my Gwen.

And I was begging her to stay.

But Gwen was already shaking her head.

No.

She didn’t even have to say it—I could already see it in her eyes, the quiet devastation, the regret, the unbearable certainty of her decision.

Still, I waited. Hoped.

She lowered herself to my level, her hands warm against my tear-streaked face, her thumbs gently wiping away the evidence of my breaking. I closed my eyes at her touch, desperate to memorize the feeling, to make it last just a little longer.

Then, she pulled me closer, pressing her lips against my forehead. Soft. Lingering. Final.

"Kapag kaya ko na… kapag pwede na… baka kapag pwede pa… babalik ako sa'yo."

Her voice was a whisper, fragile and fleeting, as if saying it any louder would shatter us both completely.

And then—just like that—she stood up.

And she walked away.

I wanted to scream, to reach for her, to drag her back and make her stay.

But I couldn’t move.

I just knelt there, frozen, feeling every step she took rip something vital out of me—until I was nothing but hollowed-out flesh and aching bones, left alone in the space where she used to be.

End Of Flashback 

Gwen pulled away from the hug, just enough to meet my eyes. Her hands, still trembling, cupped my face like she was memorizing every inch of me—like she was afraid I’d slip away if she let go for even a second.

Then, with a voice so raw, so heartbreakingly certain, she whispered, “If I had to do it all over again… if I had to choose again, I would. I would choose you all over again, Shee. Over and over. Every single time.”

My breath caught in my throat.

She wasn’t just saying it to comfort me. She wasn’t just saying it to make up for the past. She meant it.

And suddenly, all the pain, all the betrayal, all the heartbreak that once tore us apart—none of it mattered anymore.

Because this time, she was choosing me.

Not out of fear.

Not out of obligation.

Not because it was easy.

But because even in the face of everything—life and death, love and loss—she still wanted me.

COLET

I killed the engine, staring at the house that loomed in front of us like a cold, lifeless monument. Big, fancy, modern—on the outside, it was everything people dreamed of. But to me, it was nothing but a prison. A suffocating space filled with memories I wanted to erase. A place built not with love but with expectations, control, and fear.

Mikha’s hand found my arm, grounding me before my mind could spiral. I turned to her, eyes shifting between her and the house, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

"Are you sure?" Her voice was careful, hesitant. "We can—"

"This is for Jho."

I cut her off before she could give me an out, before she could offer me another way that didn’t lead me through those doors. There wasn’t another way. Not for Jho. Not for us.

Mikha nodded, the silent understanding between us needing no further words. We stepped out of the car, the cold night air barely registering against my skin.

I walked fast. Too fast.

My footsteps echoed against the marble floors as we entered, each step too loud, too familiar. My body moved on instinct—like I was still a child, rushing to my room before he could catch me. Before he could grab me by the wrist, pull me back, and remind me that I was his to control.

But that wasn’t happening.

Not anymore.

Mikha was here.

Mikha was with me.

I didn’t knock.

The moment we reached my father’s office, I shoved the door open, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I was ready—ready to get this over with, ready to do whatever it took to save Jho.

But the room was empty.

The suffocating scent of cigars and old paper clung to the air, mixing with the faint trace of his cologne that never seemed to fade, no matter how much time passed. My stomach twisted. For a second, just a second, I let myself breathe.

"Where is he?" My voice came out sharper than intended when I caught sight of a passing maid.

She barely looked at me, her tone indifferent, like she had long since stopped caring. "He went out. But he’ll be back soon."

I swallowed hard. The temporary relief I felt at his absence was immediately drowned out by frustration. This house, this office—it all felt the same. Cold. Empty. Unforgiving.

Mikha and I stepped inside anyway. We took a seat in the very chairs that had been the backdrop of so many childhood punishments, so many hours of listening to his cutting words.

And then, we waited.

The silence stretched, pressing against my skin like an invisible weight. The walls of this house had always felt like they were closing in, suffocating, caging. My father had built a fortress, not a home.

Mikha didn’t speak at first. She knew—she knew the kind of nerves this moment carried, the way my body tensed at just the thought of seeing him.

But then, in that quiet, she reached for my hand.

"You have me, Col."

Just four words. But they broke something inside me.

It wasn’t comfort, not entirely. It was a reminder. That I wasn’t alone. That despite the past, despite everything this house had done to me, someone was still beside me.

And then—like a cruel twist of fate—the door creaked open.

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

He stepped inside with the same effortless authority he always carried, like the mere act of existing meant the world should bow to him. His cold, unreadable gaze flicked toward us, and I felt like a child again. Small. Helpless. A mistake waiting to be corrected.

Mikha and I immediately stood, bowing out of forced respect before sitting back down. The air shifted—heavier now, almost suffocating.

He didn’t acknowledge us at first. Instead, he poured himself a glass of wine, his movements slow, deliberate. A performance. He was always like this—making sure we felt his power in the way he took his time, making sure we knew who was in control.

I clenched my fists under the table, nails biting into my palms.

The ice in my veins fought against the fire in my chest, and for the first time in a long time, the fire won.

When he finally sat down, when those cold, calculating eyes finally met mine, I didn’t hesitate.

I spoke.

"We need your help."

The words burned my throat as I forced them out, tasting like iron, like surrender.

I explained everything. Every painful, gut-wrenching detail. My voice trembled at points, but I pushed through, my pride long gone. Mikha backed me up when my words faltered, steady and strong where I was breaking.

And when the story was told—when we had laid everything bare before the man I spent my whole life fearing—I swallowed my pride and begged.

"Please, help us, Father. I would do anything."

The moment those words left my lips, Mikha stiffened beside me. I felt the way she tensed, the sharp intake of breath, the silent warning in her eyes. She knew. She knew what offering "anything" to my father meant. She knew what he was capable of.

My father stood slowly, adjusting his cuffs, his movements methodical. Calculated. Like he had been expecting this, waiting for it.

"Very well, then," he said.

And then—he smirked.

"But on one condition."

My stomach twisted into knots.

"Anything," I answered too quickly, too desperately.

His smirk widened, and that was the moment I knew. I knew this was going to cost me more than I could ever prepare for.

"You will return to the States. That is where you will finish law school. And when you come back, you will be as a running politician. No matter what. Do you understand?"

I couldn’t breathe.

Of all things, of all punishments, of all ways he could have hurt me—this was the one I never saw coming.

This was worse than a slap across the face, worse than the belt against my skin.

This was shackling me to him.

To his world.

To everything I swore I would never be.

I felt myself sinking, drowning, breaking—but what choice did I have? This was for Jho. This was the only way.

So I nodded. Not speaking. Not fighting.

Just nodding.

But then—

"No!" Mikha’s voice rang through the room, sharp and furious. "That’s unfair!" She turned to my father, her eyes burning. "I’ll give you what you want! Not Colet! I’ll give you my shares of my company—"

My father barely spared her a glance, waving a dismissive hand. "Your money is small," he said, voice smooth, detached. "I do not need that. I need dirty money, my child."

Mikha sucked in a sharp breath, shaking with anger, ready to fight. But before she could say another word, I grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the office.

She was still seething, her whole body trembling with rage. But when I turned to face her, I forced a smile. Forced it so hard it almost hurt.

"That was for Jho, Mikhs."

Her face twisted, her lips trembling.

And then, slowly—so slowly—she broke.

She threw her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder, and for the first time since we stepped into this house, she cried.

Cried like she was already losing me.

And maybe she was.

Because I felt it too.

I felt the weight of it, the finality, the way my world was slipping through my fingers.

What about the girls?

What about Maloi?

What about me?

Chapter Text

MIKHA 

Morning crept in by the time we got back. The house was silent, but as soon as we stepped inside, I saw them—huddled together on the couch, eyes red and swollen, evidence of a night spent crying and waiting.

But something was different. Something noticeable.

At the kitchen counter, Gwen and Sheena sat close—closer than they had in months. Their shoulders brushed, their heads tilted toward each other, quiet words exchanged that no one else could hear. For a second, just a second, a small smile tugged at my lips.

I was never mad at Gwen. It hurt at first, of course it did, but I knew—deep down—I knew she never meant for any of it to happen. None of us did.

The moment the girls saw us, their exhaustion faded into sharp alertness. Their backs straightened, eyes wide, mouths already parting to ask the inevitable—What’s the plan? What do we do now? Is Jho okay?

Colet and I shared a glance, already knowing they wouldn’t like what we had to say.

“We don’t want you involved,” I said first, firm, unwavering. “It’s too dangerous.”

Protest flickered across their faces before I even finished the sentence. We knew they wouldn’t accept that. We knew they would fight it.

So, in the end, we didn’t have a choice. We had to include them—at least partially.

A soft thud against the floor pulled my attention away. Jho’s cat.

Lingling.

She ran straight to us, weaving between our legs, meowing desperately. The moment I scooped her up, something in my chest twisted, painful and longing.

For a brief second, it felt like Jho was back in my arms.

Little Jho.

I held her close, running my fingers through her fur as I started explaining the plan to the girls. Gwen chimed in, filling in the gaps—where the location was, what we knew so far.

“We go in. Just me, Colet, and Gwen,” I stated firmly. “The rest of you wait in the car. No exceptions.”

The protests came instantly. Loud, insistent, desperate.

“We’re not just waiting around—”
“You can’t expect us to do nothing—”
“We should all be together—”

But we shut it down.

They were lucky we were even letting them come at all.

They didn’t know what we saw last night.

They didn’t know what Colet had bargained away just to get us this chance.

And we weren’t about to tell them.

As Colet continued explaining, her voice steady, unwavering, I found myself watching her instead of listening.

The weight on her shoulders, the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she stood—like she had already accepted whatever fate awaited her.

And suddenly, the thought struck me like a fist to the ribs—

I don’t think I would like a life without her.

At that moment, it struck me like a dagger to the chest—sharp, deep, and unforgiving.

We were going to get Jho back. But we were going to lose Colet.

The thought hollowed me out, leaving only the echoes of something I wasn’t ready to name—grief, fear, something heavier. My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails digging into my skin as if pain could somehow ground me, as if it could stop the truth from settling in my bones.

Was it too much to ask for everyone to stay?

For Jho to be safe.
For Colet to still be here.
For all of us to survive this without losing another piece of ourselves.

I wanted Jho back. But I wanted Colet, too.

Both of them. Here. With us.

I forced myself to breathe, to focus, to listen as Colet finished speaking. Her voice was unwavering, her words crisp, but I knew her too well. Beneath the composure, there was something breaking, something already slipping away. No one else seemed to notice the way her shoulders tensed, the way her eyes dimmed just slightly—as if she had already accepted what the rest of us hadn’t.

She wasn’t coming back from this.

We turned to the others. Their faces were set, hardened with determination, the fear buried beneath something more urgent. They didn’t know. Not yet.

But I did.

And still, we were ready.

Even if this was rushed.
Even if this was reckless.
Even if it cost us everything.

Tonight, we were getting Jho back.
And somehow, someway, I would find a way to keep Colet, too.

THIRD PERSON 

It was midnight.

The world outside carried on as if nothing was about to change. Some people were asleep, lost in dreams. Others were awake, studying under the dim glow of their desk lamps, arguing in hushed voices with their lovers, or desperately trying to finish a story that had consumed them for hours.

But in a quiet little dorm, seven girls sat together, wide awake—not for exams, not for gossip, not for the usual chaos of youth.

Tonight was different.

Tonight, sleep had no place among them.

Their hearts pounded in sync, not with fear, but with an unshakable resolve. Determination burned in their veins, replacing exhaustion, replacing doubt. They weren’t just girls anymore. They were warriors, bound by something deeper than friendship.

Love.

Loyalty.

A promise—silent but understood by all of them.

They were going to save her.

Jhoanna.

No matter what it took. No matter the cost.

Tonight, they weren’t just fighting for a friend.

They were fighting for family.

A black van pulled up in front of the dorm, its tinted windows hiding the men inside. The vehicle belonged to Colet’s father, and it was filled with armed bodyguards—silent, stoic, deadly. They weren’t there as companions. They were there as shields, as weapons, as a reminder that what they were about to do wasn’t some reckless adventure. This was real. This was dangerous.

Colet stepped forward first, her gaze locked onto the van. For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, she turned back to the girls. No words were needed. They understood. It was time.

The night air was heavy with anticipation as they stepped outside, one by one, slipping into the van’s dimly lit interior. The doors shut behind them with a soft but final thud, sealing them inside a moving vessel that carried them toward the unknown. The silence was suffocating, thick with unspoken fears and desperate prayers. None of them spoke, none of them dared to.

And then, a rustling sound.

One of the guards turned, holding out something dark and heavy. Bulletproof vests.

A grim reminder that this wasn’t just a rescue mission.

This was war.

The girls took them hesitantly, their hands shaking slightly as they fumbled with the straps. The fabric was thick, stiff, unfamiliar. Some of them were swallowed by the sheer size, drowning in the weight of it, while others fit just right. But it didn’t matter. Not really.

Because beneath the armor, beneath the nerves and the fear, they were all the same.

Determined.

Terrified.

And ready.

The van rumbled forward, the road stretching endlessly ahead. There was no turning back now.

The silence in the van thickened as the guard turned again, this time holding something far heavier than the vests. Three guns.

Only three.

A chilling confirmation of who would be stepping into the fire.

Gwen. Mikha. Colet.

The chosen ones. The ones who would walk straight into the belly of the beast while the rest of them waited outside, helpless, praying.

The guard handed over the weapons with steady hands, but the girls’ fingers trembled as they wrapped around the cold steel. It felt foreign, unnatural, wrong. They weren’t killers. They weren’t soldiers. They were just girls—students, friends, lovers. But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, they had to be something else. Something ruthless. Something unbreakable.

The others—Sheena, Maloi, Aiah, Stacey—watched with unease, their eyes filled with everything they couldn’t say. Fear. Disbelief. Helplessness.

They hated this.

They hated that it had come to this.

But they weren’t stupid. They knew there was no room for soft hearts or second thoughts.

So, they had their own plan.

A way to follow. A way to get inside. A way to make sure that no matter what happened, they wouldn’t be left behind, waiting like cowards while the three of them walked straight into hell.

Because this wasn’t just Gwen, Mikha, and Colet’s fight.

This was all of theirs.

And they were getting Jho back.

No matter what it took.

The van rolled to a stop, tucked into the shadows, far enough to stay unseen but close enough to see the building—the fortress—looming before them. It stood like a beast in the night, cold, unyielding, and suffocating under the weight of everything it held inside.

Jho was in there.

Somewhere behind those walls, she was waiting, suffering, afraid.

The thought alone was unbearable.

Gwen, Mikha, and Colet pushed open the doors, stepping out into the freezing air. It bit at their skin, sharp and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the ice spreading in their chests. Their hands were steady, their resolve unwavering—but the moment felt heavier than ever.

Two guards moved to follow them.

"No," Mikha said firmly.

But the guards didn’t back down. "Your father ordered this," one of them said to Colet, his voice steel. "You’re not going in there alone."

A tense silence stretched between them. The girls knew they needed all the help they could get, but they also knew what extra people meant—more moving parts, more risks.

Behind them, the rest of the girls shifted restlessly. Stacey, especially, was fighting to keep still. Her fists clenched at her sides, and her breathing was shallow. Jho was in there. The love of her life was in there. How the hell was she supposed to sit back and do nothing?

“We’re coming,” Stacey said, voice firm.

“No,” Colet countered immediately. “We talked about this. It’s too risky.”

“I don’t give a damn—”

“You think we do?” Gwen snapped, frustration laced with barely concealed grief. “You think we don’t want you with us? You think we don’t want all of us together?”

Stacey’s mouth opened, then closed.

The argument burned between them, heated and desperate, but in the end, it didn’t matter.

The decision was already made.

Sheena, Maloi, Aiah—each of them had fire in their eyes, but they didn’t push anymore. They knew.

Slowly, reluctantly, they stepped back.

The partners of the three clung to them for just a second longer—Sheena gripping Gwen’s wrist, Maloi squeezing Mikha’s fingers, Aiah’s eyes locked onto Colet’s like she was memorizing every detail of her face.

"Take care," they whispered, voices breaking.

Gwen, Mikha, and Colet turned away.

Stacey stood frozen, looking anywhere but at them, her heart screaming for Jho, for this to be over, for this nightmare to end.

Soon, she told herself.

Soon, she would have Jho back.

And God help anyone who stood in their way.

The bodyguards followed closely behind the three, silent and disciplined, their presence a constant reminder that this mission was real—dangerous, inevitable. Gwen, Mikha, and Colet moved with purpose, but they felt the weight of every step, knowing that once they crossed into that building, there was no turning back.

Back in the van, the suffocating silence was unbearable.

Sheena’s fingers twitched against her knee, restless. Maloi tapped her foot against the floor. Aiah's jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful.

But Stacey—Stacey was unraveling.

She had never been good at waiting. And now, knowing that Jho was so close, knowing that Gwen, Mikha, and Colet were inside that place while they sat back, useless—it was eating her alive.

Sheena caught her eye and gave her a single, sharp nod.

That was all it took.

Stacey let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Naiihi kami," she blurted, looking straight at the nearest guard.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Walang banyo dito—"

Sheena cut in immediately, her voice dripping with irritation. "Diyan sa labas. Kayo nga umiihi sa labas, bakit kami hindi puwede?"

The guard hesitated, glancing at his partner. It was a split second of doubt, but it was all the girls needed.

They moved fast. Too fast for the guards to react.

The second their feet hit the ground, they weren’t heading for some nonexistent bathroom—they were slipping into the shadows, hiding, trailing the others.

They knew it was reckless.

They knew it was dangerous.

But it didn’t matter.

They couldn’t just sit back. Not when their friends—their family—were walking straight into the lion’s den.

The tension in the air was suffocating. Every step felt heavier, every shadow looked like a threat. Gwen, Mikha, and Colet moved in sync, pressing their backs against the cold walls, their breaths controlled but quick. The silence of the building was deafening, amplifying every creak of the floor beneath their boots.

Gwen’s grip on the gun was tight but unsure. Colet had drilled the basics into her earlier—how to hold it, how to aim, how to shoot if necessary. But now, with the weight of steel in her hands, hesitation still clung to her like a second skin. She had to push past it. This was her fault. If she hadn't—

No. She forced the thought down. This wasn’t the time for guilt.

They split up, sweeping through the dark, empty rooms, their weapons raised, their fingers tense against the triggers. Every door they kicked open led to nothing. No Jho. No enemies. Just an eerie emptiness that made their chests tighten with unease.

When they finally regrouped at the entrance, frustration settled over them like a thick fog. The guards flanked them, waiting for orders. The fear still sat in their stomachs, but now it was mixed with something worse—disappointment. They would rather be terrified while saving Jho than be terrified because they still didn’t know where she was.

Then—

A noise.

Outside.

A scuffle, hushed whispers, something—or someone—moving.

Their instincts kicked in. Guns shot up instantly, bodies tensing, brows furrowing in sharp focus. Their hearts pounded as they listened, trying to make sense of the muffled voices.

And then—

The realization hit.

Colet groaned, dragging a hand down her face as frustration flared in her chest.

The rest of the girls.

On the ground.

In a tangled mess.

Arguing.

Because they couldn’t figure out who pushed who.

Gwen lowered her gun, pressing her lips into a thin line as she tried to suppress the whirlwind of emotions—relief, exasperation, disbelief. Mikha’s shoulders sagged as she let out a deep breath.

Colet, on the other hand, was not as composed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she hissed, rubbing her temples. "We are in the middle of a goddamn rescue mission, and you idiots are out here—falling on top of each other like clowns?!"

Sheena groaned, trying to untangle herself from Maloi. "Technically, it was Stacey’s fault—"

"It was Aiah!" Stacey shot back, still on her back.

Aiah gasped. "Excuse me, you were the one who—"

"Shut up, all of you!" Colet snapped. "Do you have any idea how close we were to shooting your dumb asses?!"

A beat of silence.

Then Maloi, flat on her stomach, muttered, "Well, technically, I think I landed in a way that would've deflected a bullet—"

"Not. The. Point."

Gwen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before exchanging a look with Mikha. Their partners were impossible.

The mission wasn’t even over yet, and somehow, they were already on the verge of losing their minds.

Mikha, Gwen, and Colet had barely taken a step toward their fallen friends when the sound of slow, deliberate clapping sliced through the air.

The echo of it crawled up their spines like a cold, skeletal hand, making the hairs on the back of their necks stand. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a taunt, a cruel mockery of their presence, of their efforts.

Their bodies moved in sync, instinct overriding thought.

Snap.

Three guns raised.

Click.

Fingers curled over the triggers, breaths hitched, hearts hammering wildly against their ribs.

And there he stood.

Calm.

Composed.

Unbothered.

Dr. Surien.

Jhoanna’s father.

Nerius Valtieri.

His lips stretched into a slow, lazy smile, head tilting slightly, as if he were watching children play pretend. As if he weren’t the very monster they had come to destroy.

Colet inhaled sharply, stepping in front of the others, forming a barricade. Mikha and Gwen mirrored her movement, a protective instinct roaring through their veins. The girls behind them scrambled to their feet, but fear glued them to the ground.

Dr. Surien sighed, as if this was all just an inconvenience to him. With effortless grace, he straightened his cuffs, his gaze assessing them like they were nothing more than pieces on a chessboard.

"You came here for my daughter?" His voice was smooth, disturbingly casual, like he was asking about the weather.

Mikha’s hands trembled, but her voice was made of steel.

"Where is Jho?!"

She didn’t hesitate. She cocked the gun, her knuckles turning white, her fury spilling into the air, thick and suffocating.

But Dr. Surien…

He didn’t even flinch.

His eyes weren’t on her. They weren’t on Colet, or Gwen, or any of the girls standing before him with their guns and their burning anger.

He was looking for something— no.

Someone.

And then, his face lit up.

The kind of smile that wasn’t warm, wasn’t welcoming. It was sharp. Knowing. Like a predator spotting its prey.

His gaze locked onto Maloi.

A slow, deliberate wave.

Maloi’s breath hitched. Her stomach twisted violently, a sickening weight pressing down on her chest.

No.

No, no, no.

She felt the world tilt, memories flashing through her mind—moments of trust, of safety, of the lies she had swallowed whole.

Before she could even process the betrayal blooming like wildfire inside her, Colet moved.

Swift. Unyielding.

She stepped in front of Maloi, cutting off his view, her own body a shield.

“I’ll shoot.”

She meant it.

And for the first time, the threat was met with something other than dismissal.

Dr. Surien—Nerius—laughed.

A slow, quiet chuckle, rolling off his tongue like silk, curling around them like a noose.

It wasn’t nervous. It wasn’t surprised.

It was amused.

“Oh, come on now,” he drawled, shaking his head. "We’ve been through so much together, haven’t we?" His voice dripped with something sickly sweet. "You should be thanking me, Colet. After all, I made sure you were safe from that reckless little stunt you pulled on the dark web.”

Silence.

Not the kind that offered peace.

The kind that suffocated. That made the air thick, heavy, unbearable.

Colet’s heart stopped.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

No.

The smirk on his face deepened.

“Oh? What’s the matter?” He clicked his tongue, mock disappointment twisting his expression. “You didn’t know?”

And then, with the ease of a man who had already won—

"Your girlfriend asked for my help."

Colet’s breath caught in her throat, a sharp, jagged thing that refused to settle.

The weight of his words crashed over her, pressing down like a vice, sinking its claws deep into her ribs.

Your girlfriend asked for my help.

The sentence echoed in her skull, burning, twisting, warping into something unbearable.

She barely registered the others anymore—the sharp, confused stares of the girls behind her, the way Mikha’s fingers tightened around her gun, her knuckles turning bone-white. Gwen’s breath had gone shallow, uneven, like she was drowning in the tension pressing in from all sides.

But Colet—Colet could only stare.

Her heart pounded against her chest so violently it threatened to shatter through her ribs.

Across from them, Dr. Surien’s smirk deepened, curling with satisfaction. He reveled in the way her world tilted off its axis, took in the fracture of trust in her eyes with something close to amusement.

And then, he took a step forward. Slow. Deliberate.

His hands were tucked neatly into the pockets of his pristine coat, as if this were nothing more than a casual conversation.

“That’s why it stopped,” he continued, his voice light, almost lazy, like they weren’t standing on the edge of something irreversible.

“The threats. The people lurking in the shadows, waiting for you to make one wrong move. Gone—just like that.”

Snap.

His fingers flicked together, the sound slicing through the silence like a knife.

Colet swallowed hard.

No.

No, that wasn’t—she didn’t—

"You thought it just disappeared, didn’t you?" he pressed, his amusement sickening. "Oh, Colet. How naive. You should know by now—nothing in this world comes for free."

A hollow pit opened in her stomach, swallowing her whole.

She had convinced herself the danger had simply faded away, that somehow, she had escaped the worst of it. That maybe, by some stroke of luck, she had slipped through the cracks.

But this?

Maloi stood frozen, lips parted, hands trembling at her sides, her own mind spinning, trying to catch up.

But Dr. Surien wasn’t finished.

His voice was softer now, almost pitying.

"She told me everything, Colet. Every single thing. But tell me—did she ever tell you?"

His voice was softer now, almost pitying.

Colet didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Because deep inside, she already knew the answer.

And that was when she heard it.

A sharp intake of breath.

A choked sound of frustration.

And then—

Stacey’s voice tore through the thick, suffocating air like the sharp edge of a blade, slicing clean through the tension that had wrapped around them like a noose. It wasn’t just anger in her tone—it was something deeper, something raw and desperate, something that clawed its way out of her throat like a scream she had been holding back for too long.

She took a step forward, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone bone-white. Every muscle in her body trembled with barely restrained fury, her chest rising and falling in sharp, erratic bursts. But she didn’t stop. She didn’t waver. She stood her ground, staring Dr. Surien down with a hatred so blistering it could have burned through steel.

“Where’s my girlfriend?”

The words cracked through the silence like a gunshot, fierce and unrelenting, refusing to be ignored. Her voice shook, but not from fear. No, Stacey wasn’t afraid. She was past that. This was something else entirely—a storm, wild and untamed, ready to tear through everything in its path if it meant getting Jho back.

She inhaled sharply, her nails digging into her palms as her gaze burned into the man before her.

“Whatever the girls did—whatever Maloi did, whatever Gwen did—it isn’t their fault.”

For a moment—just a fleeting second—her voice wavered, caught somewhere between rage and grief. The weight of everything threatened to crush her, but she refused to let it.

She squared her shoulders, straightened her spine, and when she spoke again, her voice was stronger. Steadier.

“It’s you. It will always be you.”

The words hung in the air like a vow, a curse, a promise she would never break.

Gwen sucked in a breath, the sound shaky, barely audible over the pounding of her own heartbeat. Her world had felt like it was tilting ever since this nightmare began, every step forward laced with guilt, with fear, with the crushing weight of mistakes she couldn’t undo.

But then she turned—vision swimming, heart hammering—and saw Stacey standing there, unshaken, unwavering.

Choosing them.

Choosing her.

And something inside Gwen shifted.

This wasn’t about blame anymore.

It wasn’t about regret, or mistakes, or the thousand suffocating what-ifs that had haunted her since the night Jho was taken.

This was about getting her back.

About getting all of them back.

And no matter what it took—

They would.

Colet’s breath came in sharp, ragged pulls as her mind raced. Her hands trembled, but her grip on the gun remained tight. Every fiber of her being screamed for justice, for retribution, for something to make this all feel less like a nightmare they couldn’t wake up from. With every ounce of fury in her body, she raised the gun again, her finger pressing against the trigger, ready to end this.

Dr. Surien only chuckled, the sound low and condescending, like he found all of this amusing. He lifted his hands in mock surrender, as if he wasn’t the very reason they were standing here, armed and desperate, fighting for someone they refused to lose. There was no fear in his eyes, only the cruel glint of a man who knew he had already won before the game had even started.

But Stacey’s voice still rang in Colet’s mind, loud and unforgiving. None of this was their fault. Not Maloi’s, not Gwen’s, not any of them. It had always been him.

Maloi had only wanted to protect her, had only been searching for a way to help. Colet couldn’t blame her for that, because she had done the same thing—trusted the wrong person, made the wrong choices, all for the sake of the people she loved. But none of it mattered now. Not the past, not the betrayals, not the regrets. The only thing that mattered was getting Jho back. The only thing that mattered was making sure this man could never hurt them again.

Colet’s pulse thundered in her ears as she took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out.

But there was no impact. No recoil. No bullet tearing through the air.

Her stomach dropped.

She pulled again. Nothing.

A cold wave of realization washed over her as Mikha and Gwen did the same, each click of an empty chamber making the pit in her stomach grow deeper. The guns were empty.

Her grip slackened just slightly, her mind struggling to catch up. How? How could they have not known? When did this happen?

And then she saw him. Dr. Surien, standing there, watching them with the satisfaction of a man who had already played his winning hand. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his hands, his smirk growing wider, his amusement almost unbearable now.

And then Colet heard it—the distinct, chilling sound of guns being raised.

Her body tensed immediately as she turned her head, expecting to see Dr. Surien’s men preparing to fire. But what she saw instead made her blood run cold.

The guards—her father’s guards—the ones who were supposed to protect them, the ones who were supposed to be on their side—had their guns trained on them.

Her fingers went numb as the gun slipped from her grasp, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. Confusion and betrayal warred inside her, making her vision blur as the weight of the moment pressed down on her.

And then, before she could fully process what was happening, a voice—a familiar, powerful voice that sent a different kind of fear through her—echoed through the space.

"That's enough playing with my daughter, Nerius."

Colet's breath hitched as her entire body stiffened. The air in the room seemed to shift, the tension growing heavier, suffocating. Before she could even turn to face him, the first shot was fired.

But it wasn’t a bullet.

The sharp sting hit her neck, burning through her skin as her legs gave out beneath her. Her vision swayed violently, her body crumbling to the ground as the others followed, one by one. A desperate, strangled sound escaped her lips as her limbs refused to move, as the darkness at the edges of her vision slowly began to swallow her whole.

Colet had known her father was the worst of the worst. She had spent years trying to outrun the truth of what he was capable of.

But betraying his own daughter?

That was something even she hadn’t been prepared for.

Chapter Text

COLET 

When I woke up, my body felt like it had been ripped apart and stitched back together wrong. My head throbbed in a way that made me nauseous, my throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper had been dragged against it, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself believe—desperately, stupidly believe—that everything had been a nightmare. That I was home. That I could hear the girls laughing, arguing over something ridiculous, that Jho was safe, curled up beside Stacey, and that this weight crushing my chest didn’t exist.

But then, my vision cleared.

The walls weren’t the soft pastels of our dorm room but black—cold, suffocating, and unfamiliar. My body ached as I shifted, and that’s when I felt it—the bite of rope digging into my wrists, the sharp restriction of it as I tried to move. Panic flared in my chest, sharp and immediate. I was tied to a metal pole, my arms twisted behind me, the rough texture of the rope burning against my skin.

And then I saw her.

Mikha.

Slumped against the same pole, her head tilted downward, her breathing shallow. Her lip was split, blood dried at the corner of her mouth, and there was a bruise blooming across her cheek. My stomach twisted violently.

This was real.

This wasn’t a dream, wasn’t some twisted hallucination. We had been caught. And worse—Jho was still out there, still suffering, still at the mercy of monsters.

A sick, horrifying thought curled in my mind like poison.

They should’ve just killed us.

They should’ve killed Jho too.

Because at least then, we wouldn’t have to keep living through this nightmare.

Pain radiated through my face, sharp and unforgiving, pulsing with every shallow breath I took. A fresh wave of agony flared across my cheek, the kind that only came from a well-placed hit. My lips tasted like copper. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, my jaw tight, and it hit me—

They hurt us.

While we were unconscious.

Fucking bastards.

The realization sent a violent shudder through me, rage clawing its way up my chest. My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms as I forced my eyes open, ignoring the way my vision swayed. The room was dark, suffocating, the air thick with something vile, something that made my stomach churn.

I needed to move.

I needed to find a way out.

I let my eyes dart around, scanning, searching. An exit. A weapon. Anything. There had to be something—I refused to believe this was it. That this was how it ended. My breath came fast, uneven, as I struggled against the restraints, feeling the ropes bite into my wrists, the rough fibers scraping skin raw.

Then, I forced my head back against the cold metal pole, straining to look past the pain, past the dizziness, past the panic.

And that was when I saw them.

Stacey. Aiah. Maloi. Sheena. 

Tied to another pole just a few feet away, bound the same way we were. 

Their heads hung low, their bodies unmoving, but the bruises blooming across their faces were unmistakable. I felt something in me snap at the sight. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out every other thought.

They did hurt us.

The rage burned through me, stronger than the fear, hotter than the pain. I started thrashing, pulling against the restraints with everything I had, not caring that the rope only dug deeper, not caring that my shoulders screamed in protest. I just wanted out. I wanted to tear through whoever did this.

I just wanted us to be safe.

But then—

I froze.

Gwen.

She wasn’t tied to the pole like the rest of us.

She was on the floor.

Her body lay motionless, her hands bound behind her back, her dark hair falling messily over her face.

A cold, suffocating dread wrapped around my throat like a noose. My breath stilled, my chest tightening so painfully I thought it might cave in.

She wasn’t moving.

I strained forward, heart hammering, a horrible thought taking shape in my mind, one that made my blood run ice-cold—

No. No, no, no, please—

And then—I saw it.

The faintest rise and fall of her back.

Air rushed from my lungs in a shuddering gasp, relief so sharp it made me dizzy. My body sagged against the pole for half a second before the desperation surged back, stronger, fiercer.

She was alive.

I swallowed back the rising panic in my throat, forcing myself to focus. My body ached, my wrists were raw from struggling, and the ropes dug into my skin with every movement, but I didn’t care. I needed to do something—anything.

I turned my head toward Mikha, my voice barely a whisper as I called out to her. “Mikha… Mikha, wake up.” My throat was so dry it hurt to speak, but I tried again. “Mikha, please.” Nothing. She didn’t move. Fear clawed at my chest, cold and suffocating. I banged my head back against the metal pole, wincing as pain shot through my skull, but I didn’t stop. If my voice wasn’t enough to wake them, maybe this would be. I did it again, harder this time, the sharp thud echoing in the silent room. My breath came in short, frantic bursts, my heart pounding against my ribs. Again. And again. The pain barely registered anymore.

I wasn’t just trying to wake them up. I was punishing myself. For trusting the wrong person. For bringing us here. For everything. My head throbbed, my vision swam, and just as I was about to slam it back again, the door creaked open. The sudden flood of light made my eyes water, and I squinted, trying to adjust. Heavy boots thudded against the concrete floor, slow, deliberate, carrying a weight that made my stomach twist in dread. I didn't need to look. I already knew who it was.

And when I did lift my head, there he stood. My father. Tall. Poised. Detached. Two guards flanked him, each carrying a large metal bucket between them. Water sloshed over the edges as they walked, dripping onto the ground in slow, deliberate splatters. A chill ran down my spine. My throat tightened, but I forced my voice out, sharp and demanding. “What are you gonna do?”

He stepped forward, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, movements slow and meticulous, like he had all the time in the world. His eyes met mine, unreadable, his expression one of almost clinical curiosity. Then he nodded toward the guards. Without hesitation, they lifted the buckets and threw the water over the girls.

The reaction was instant. Gasps, sputtering coughs, bodies jerking awake as the freezing liquid drenched them, stealing their breath. Mikha coughed violently beside me, her body shaking from the sudden shock, while Maloi, Stacey and Aiah flinched, blinking rapidly as they tried to grasp what was happening. Gwen, still slumped on the ground, stirred weakly, her breathing shallow but there.

My father let out a short laugh, the sound sharp and amused. “We needed to do that. We thought we killed you.”

Something inside me snapped. The way he spoke so casually, like this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, like we were nothing more than objects to be disposed of if necessary—it made me sick. I screamed, pulling against the restraints until my skin burned, until my shoulders ached. I knew it was only water, but seeing them like this, shivering, coughing, struggling to regain their breath—because of me, because of my foolishness, because I trusted the wrong person again—was unbearable.

The door groaned open again, and just when I thought this nightmare couldn't get any worse, another monster stepped inside.

Nerius.

He carried himself with a sickening ease, his chin tilted ever so slightly upward, his hands clasped behind his back like he was surveying a masterpiece—a creation of his own design. His gaze swept over us, taking in every detail: the bruises staining our skin, the tremors in our bodies, the exhaustion weighing down our limbs. And then, he smiled. It was a slow, satisfied smirk, like he was admiring his work. Like we were nothing more than pawns, toys for him to manipulate, to break, to use.

And maybe that was exactly what we were.

Because we had been fooled. Again. Dragged into another one of his traps, caught in his web, forced to play along in a game we never wanted to be part of. We weren’t warriors here. We weren’t fighters. We were circus animals, trained to jump through burning hoops while the ringmaster laughed from the sidelines.

He stopped a few steps away, tilting his head, his voice light, almost condescending.

“Good. The children are awake.”

Something inside me snapped.

The sound of the girls coughing, gasping for air, struggling against their restraints clawed at my insides, searing through my nerves like a blade against bone. I couldn’t take it. I couldn't let this happen.

I screamed.

"Father, what did he tell you? What lie did he spin this time? No matter what he said, he's just a goddamn parasite that feeds off of people, using them, discarding them when they’re no longer useful!" My voice tore through the room, shaking, burning, but my eyes weren’t on my father. I was looking straight at Nerius. Straight at that smug, heartless bastard who had done nothing but destroy everything in his path. Everything we loved.

But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even react. My words were nothing to him. Like I was nothing.

Then, before I could prepare myself, my father moved.

His fingers clamped around my chin, gripping hard, yanking my face toward his. I gasped, instinctively trying to pull back, but his hold was firm, suffocating. My breath stilled. The girls screamed, voices high and frantic, but he didn’t let go.

And I forced myself to meet his eyes.

Even if my chest was heaving. Even if my hands were trembling against the restraints. Even if I could feel my pulse slamming against my skull, my body begging me to look away.

His gaze was steady, but beneath it, something flickered. Something I couldn’t quite place. And then, his voice came, eerily soft, laced with something almost… mournful.

“Child,” he murmured, “he will get back your mother. He promised me that. If I help him.”

And then, just as quickly, he shoved me away, like I was something disposable. Like I was nothing more than an inconvenience.

But I barely felt it.

Because my mind was still spinning.

Because I could still hear those words echoing over and over and over.

My mother.

My mother, who had died when I was born. My mother, who had left me with this monster.

I stared at him, trying to process, trying to make sense of it.

She had married him. Loved him. Chosen him.

And she had chosen to bring me into this world.

How? How could she ever love someone like him?

And then he said it.

“I just want your mother back.”

And for the first time in my life, I saw it.

Not the ruthless, heartless man who had raised me in cruelty. Not the monster who had made my life a living hell.

For the first time, I saw a man who was lost. A man who was drowning. A man who had spent his entire existence chasing a ghost, clawing for something he could never have, shattering everything in his path in a desperate attempt to bring her back.

And maybe—just maybe—this was the man my mother had fallen in love with.

Before she left.

Before he broke.

"Even if it means harming your own child?" My voice trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of it all. I should’ve known better than to ask. I should’ve known that the answer was something I had been living with my entire life. But I wanted to hear him say it, wanted to hear the truth from his own lips.

He had hurt me in so many ways before, left bruises that never truly faded, carved scars into my body and mind alike. I had lost count of the times I told myself that I was numb to it, that I was stronger than him, that his words and his fists meant nothing to me anymore. And yet, despite everything, despite knowing exactly who he was, it still hurt. Because deep down, no matter how much I hated it, he was still my father. And there was still a part of me—a desperate, fractured part—that had once wished he could love me.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, my chest tightening as I forced the words out. "Father, he's not God. He's not going to bring her back—"

I didn't even get to finish before his hand struck me across the face. The impact sent a sharp crack through the air, my head snapping violently to the side. A metallic taste coated my tongue, my vision blurred at the edges, and for a moment, I only heard ringing. Then, through the haze, came the sound of the girls screaming, their voices laced with panic and helplessness.

But he wasn’t finished.

Another slap. Harder this time. I barely had the chance to register the pain before another one followed, each strike landing with the weight of words he had been holding inside for years.

"Your mother was gone because of you." The world tilted, my skin burning where his palm had landed, but I forced myself to stay upright.

"She died because she had someone like you." Another blow. My head jerked, the throbbing intensifying, my vision swimming.

"She left me with someone like you." The venom in his voice was suffocating, wrapping around my throat like a noose. My breath came in ragged, uneven gasps as I struggled to stay conscious, struggled to ignore the sick feeling twisting in my stomach.

His next words weren’t screamed, weren’t spat at me like daggers—no, they were spoken softer, colder, dripping with something far worse than anger.

"Someone who's a shit."

The final slap knocked whatever air I had left out of my lungs. The pain was sharp and unrelenting, spreading across my face like wildfire. My body sagged against the restraints, the world around me blurring in and out of focus. I barely noticed the blood pooling in my mouth, barely registered the tears burning at the corners of my eyes. But I felt the weight of it. The finality.

Because this wasn’t just about what I had done, about my mistakes or my failures. This was something deeper, something crueler.

He had always blamed me. And no matter how much I fought, no matter how much I proved I was more than the daughter of a broken man—he always would.

Mikha screamed then, her voice raw and desperate, the metal pole rattling violently as she thrashed against her restraints. “Touch her one more time, and I swear to God, I’ll kill you!” Her rage burned through the room, but it didn’t matter. She was tied up, just like the rest of us. Helpless. Powerless.

Father only cast her a brief glance, his face unreadable, but his grip on me loosened. Not because of Mikha. Not because of guilt. But because Nerius finally decided he had seen enough.

“God, stop with the dramatics,” Nerius groaned, rolling his eyes like we were nothing more than misbehaving children throwing a tantrum. He adjusted the cuffs of his pristine coat, then turned to my father with that ever-present smirk that made my stomach twist. “We have a show for the children, don’t we, Vergara?”

My father hesitated, his jaw tightening as he met Nerius’ expectant gaze. Then, without a word, he turned toward the small, dust-covered television mounted on the wall.

My blood ran cold.

Nerius followed his movement, taking out a small remote from his pocket, his fingers tapping it absentmindedly. His smirk deepened, eyes glinting with something vile, something excited.

“You’re going to watch my daughter,” he said, voice dripping with delight.

And then, he pressed play.

THIRD PERSON

The moment the screen flickered to life, a suffocating wave of dread settled over them like a vice, squeezing the air from their lungs. Every one of the girls wished, with every fiber of their being, that they could close their eyes and slip back into unconsciousness, escape into nothingness rather than face what was unfolding before them. But there was no escaping this. No waking up from this nightmare.

Jhoanna.

She was there, bound to a cold metal chair, her wrists and ankles strapped down so tightly that the skin beneath the restraints had begun to bruise. Her head hung low, her dark hair matted to her face, her breaths shallow, labored. The fluorescent lights above cast a sickly glow over her pale skin, making her look even weaker than she already was. Surrounding her were faceless figures in pristine lab coats, moving with methodical precision, their voices murmuring in clinical detachment as if she were nothing more than another experiment.

Then, a sharp crackle broke through the silence. The walkie-talkie on Nerius’s coat buzzed to life, the static cutting through the thick air. He reached for it without hesitation, his fingers curling around the device, his smirk never faltering.

On the screen, another doctor held a similar walkie-talkie, positioned just a few feet away from Jhoanna’s slumped form. It was a confirmation that he was the one on the other end of the call. And then, just as the girls sucked in a breath, bracing for what was coming, the words that shattered whatever fragile hope they had left rang through the room.

"Doctor, her vitals are weak. Are you sure you want to proceed with this?"

The words were a gunshot, a blade plunging straight through their chests.

Mikha jerked violently against her restraints, her arms straining so hard that the rope bit into her skin, but she didn’t care. She had to get free. Stacey let out a strangled scream, her whole body trembling, hands curling into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms. Maloi was shaking, her breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps, her eyes locked onto the screen in pure horror. Gwen, still slumped on the cold floor, made a sound that was barely human—a broken, helpless whimper that twisted like a knife into the others’ hearts.

Aiah, she was trembling. Her entire body had gone rigid, eyes locked onto the screen, wide and unblinking, as if looking away would make it worse. Sheena, she was shaking so hard that her teeth were chattering, her lips pressed together to keep from making a sound, but she couldn’t stop the way her shoulders trembled, the way her hands clenched into fists so tight they turned white.

Colet couldn’t breathe. Her chest heaved, her pulse pounded, her vision blurred at the edges. Her stomach twisted violently, her body screaming at her to move, to do something, anything. But all she could do was watch, frozen, paralyzed by fear and rage and grief all tangled together in a sickening knot.

Jhoanna was dying.

The realization slammed into everyone, stealing the air from her lungs.

She looked so small, so fragile, barely conscious as the doctors loomed over her like vultures waiting for the last breath to leave her body.

Colet wanted to scream until her throat was raw, wanted to tear through the binds holding her back, wanted to rip Nerius apart with her bare hands, wanted—needed—to save Jho before it was too late.

Each of them felt it at the same time, their hearts fracturing in unison, splintering into jagged pieces that could never be put back together.

Stacey lunged forward, rattling against her binds so violently it sent a sharp, metallic screech through the air. “What the fuck are you doing?!” she screamed, her voice breaking. “She’s dying! ”

Nerius turned to her, unfazed, and smiled as if they were discussing something trivial. “Killing her. Isn’t it obvious?”

Colet felt her world tilt, a sickening realization gripping her so tightly she thought she might choke on it. The panic surged through her like wildfire, and before she could stop herself, she was speaking, her words tumbling out so fast she barely registered them.

"Father— the deal. ” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care. She latched onto any hope she could. “You remember, right? The one we talked about? I can still do it! I will! Just—just don’t hurt Jho! Take me instead! ”

Her voice broke entirely on that last word, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except stopping this.

Mikha’s reaction was instant. “ Shut up, Colet! ” she snapped, her voice sharp with panic. The chains holding her rattled as she struggled, the sheer desperation in her tone making Colet’s chest cave in. “You don’t get to fucking do that! I am not losing you! I am not losing any of you! Do you fucking hear me?!”

Tears burned in Colet’s eyes, but before she could say anything, another voice—so familiar, so gentle despite the chaos—cut through the suffocating terror.

"Colet," Maloi said, her voice steady despite the tremble beneath it. "You don’t get to do this kind of shit alone anymore. You have us. You have me. Whatever happens, we do it together. ”

The words shattered something deep within Colet.

But before she could respond, Nerius laughed—a cruel, delighted sound that sent ice down their spines. “God, you’re all so dramatic. Fine, fine, let’s make this interesting.” His smirk widened, sick with amusement. “We were always planning on killing her anyway. Her heart is too weak, which might affect the results. But we kill her first, bring her back—easy fix, right?”

He said it like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t Jhoanna, the girl who loved them so fiercely she would’ve burned the world down for them.

Colet’s breathing hitched.

"Who cares if we lose her?" Nerius continued, his voice eerily light. “We have plenty more test subjects right here.” His cold gaze flickered to the rest of them, making their blood run ice cold.

Colet’s father stood silent beside him, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t say anything, didn’t argue, didn’t even flinch.

Nerius tilted his head toward him then, as if remembering his presence, before saying, "I had a deal with your father, brat. To bring your mother back. And I will. And for that, I need the perfect test subject. That’s going to be my daughter.”

A cruel grin stretched across his face.

"If she dies, she dies. If she comes back—well, congratulations. You get your mother back. And Jhoanna back.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “But where’s the fun in that?"

The girls could barely process the horror of it, the sheer weight of what he was saying.

Jhoanna wasn’t just another casualty in this twisted game.

She was the experiment.

And the worst part? This wasn’t the first time.

Nerius had spent years perfecting his work—years of stolen lives, bodies torn apart in the name of science, people who had been nothing but ingredients in his search for something unnatural.

He had tried everything. Stem cell manipulation, forced cell regeneration, organ transplants from unwilling donors. He had used countless combinations of serums—each one designed to push the body beyond its limits, to force it into a state of rebirth. Some had been injected with modified DNA strains, others with experimental drugs that rewrote their genetic makeup, twisting them into something barely human.

And when that hadn’t worked, he’d turned to something darker.

Electric shocks to jolt the heart back to life. Induced comas to slow brain death. Forced suffocation to test how long consciousness could linger in the body before slipping away entirely.

His obsession had no limits.

And now, Jhoanna was next.

Aiah’s breath came in shallow gasps, her whole body shaking violently as she fought against her restraints. “You’re insane, ” she spat, her voice breaking. “You think you’re God —but you’re just a fucking monster. ”

Nerius only smiled.

And then, without hesitation, he turned back to the screen—watching, waiting—because to him, this was just another experiment.

And Jhoanna was just another body.

Jhoanna's body felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive, as if she were sinking into the cold metal of the chair she was bound to. Her head throbbed, her vision blurred at the edges, and her throat burned from dehydration. She couldn’t even remember how she got here—how they had dragged her from one nightmare into another.

She forced her eyes open, only to be met with the same sickening sight that had haunted her for years. White coats. Sterile gloves. The sharp scent of antiseptic mixed with something metallic—blood, maybe hers. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Because no matter how many times she fought, no matter how many times she clawed her way out, she always ended up right back here. An experiment. A test subject. A body they could violate in the name of science.

Would this ever end?

Her chest tightened, breaths coming in shallow gasps. She was dying. She could feel it, creeping up on her like a phantom, curling around her lungs, making it harder and harder to hold on. And she wasn’t afraid. Not of death. Not anymore. She had heard them—whoever the hell they were—say it out loud. That her vitals were weak. That she wouldn’t last long. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was her way out. Maybe it was finally over.

But then, a thought—no, a feeling—rose up in her, clawing desperately against the numbness settling in her bones. The girls.

She hadn’t seen them.

She hadn’t seen Stacey.

Would Stacey still love her like this? So weak, so helpless, nothing but a fragile, broken thing waiting to be discarded? Would she look at her with pity? Disgust? Or would she still see the Jhoanna she used to be? The one who laughed too loudly, who held Stacey’s hand like it was the most precious thing in the world, who fought tooth and nail to keep them safe, even when it nearly killed her.

God, she just wanted to go home.

Her breath hitched when she saw movement—doctors circling around her like vultures, preparing something, their hands steady, practiced. She barely had time to process before sharp, burning pain exploded in her neck.

She gasped, eyes widening, body jerking against the restraints, but she was too weak to move, too weak to fight. A needle. A fucking needle. She could feel something cold and unnatural being forced into her veins, spreading like wildfire, like ice, like death itself.

Her body arched, but her strength was slipping, slipping, slipping—

Colet.

She wanted to see Colet’s angry eyes one last time, to hear her snap at someone, to watch her glare at the world like she could fight it all by herself. Just once, Jhoanna wouldn’t mind being on the receiving end of that rage again.

Mikha.

Did she finally say it? Did she finally tell Aiah? Or was it Aiah who confessed first? God, she wished she could’ve been there to see it. She would miss the rides the most—the wind, the speed, the way Mikha never stopped her, never told her to slow down. She let her have that freedom, that recklessness, because she understood. If only she had one last ride.

Aiah

Aiah—was she eating enough? Probably not. She worried too much about the girls, always putting them first, forgetting herself in the process. Jhoanna wanted to scold her for it, to remind her that she mattered just as much as the rest of them. But she wouldn’t get the chance, would she?

Sheena.

Did she keep going? Was she fighting? Or was she still stuck in that endless cycle of trying to be more, trying to be enough? She remembered the day she got expelled. The way she hid her pain behind a forced smile. Jhoanna wished she had done more for her.

Gwen.

Jhoanna understood. She understood why she broke up with Sheena, why she walked away, why she built walls so high even the people who loved her most couldn't climb them. . And Gwen, don’t let them get to you. Don’t let them haunt you anymore, don’t let their words stain your skin, don’t let them follow you around like ghosts. Those people who bullied you. Jhoanna wouldn’t be there to stop them.

This time, she wouldn’t be there at all.

Maloi.

She’s taking care of Colet, right?

She has to be. Colet needs her.

Maloi, who always scolded Jhoanna for being reckless, who always patched her up after a fight, who always made her feel safe. Like an older sister. Like family.

She wished she could thank her.

She wished she could say goodbye.

And then—

Stacey.

Pink. She saw pink.

It was Stacey’s favorite color. It was the warmth of her embrace, the softness of her lips, the way her laughter felt like a song only Jhoanna could hear. It was the color of the hair ties Stacey always wore, the shade of the sunsets they watched together, the tender blush that dusted her cheeks whenever Jho teased her.

Jhoanna wanted to reach for her. Just one last time.

She wanted to feel Stacey’s fingers tracing absentminded patterns on her skin, the way they always did when they lay together, whispering about forever like it was something real. She wanted to hear her scold her for being reckless, for getting into fights, for always chasing danger instead of safety. She wanted to tell her that she never meant to leave her behind, that if she had a choice, she would stay.

But she didn’t.

Her vision blurred, her body numb, but through the haze of pain, a small, tired smile ghosted her lips.

She was thinking of Stacey when the last breath was forced from her lungs.

And then—nothing.

Chapter Text

The moment the flatline rang through the room, it was as if the entire world had shattered. The sun had been stolen from the sky, and no one knew how to bring back its light. The steady, merciless wail of the monitor was the only sound that mattered, louder than their screams, louder than their sobs, louder than the breaking of their hearts.

Jhoanna’s eyes had closed like they were never meant to open again. Like the sea had stilled, the waves frozen in time, never to crash upon the shore.

Gwen lunged forward, her body shaking with a scream so raw it tore from her throat like it was trying to escape her own grief. She fought, kicking, thrashing, trying to rip herself free, but the guards held her down. All she could do was squirm and cry—over and over again, as if sheer willpower could undo what had just happened.

Sheena didn’t move. She couldn’t. The last words she had said to Jhoanna replayed like a cruel, endless loop. You’re not my sister. Leave me alone. But she didn't want Jho to leave. Not like this. Not forever. She let the tears fall silently, each one carrying the weight of regret she would never escape.

Aiah, Stacey, and Maloi were the opposite. The pole rattled violently, shaking with their frantic movements, their desperate fight to break free. Aiah trembled, her sobs strangled and hollow. She cried like Jhoanna could still hear her, like she could call her back. Maloi, usually so steady, so rational, could only stare, silent and still. In some sick, twisted way, she prayed that whatever horrific experiment Jhoanna’s father had done would work. Let the world burn. Let chaos consume everything. As long as Jhoanna came back.

But Stacey—Stacey felt the world drain of color. It was like she had gone blind, like everything had faded into grayscale. The sun had always risen twice for her—once in the sky, and once in Jhoanna’s smile. Now, one of her suns was gone. How was she supposed to stand without its warmth?

Mikha fought too hard, too violently, to the point that blood dripped down her skin, staining the ropes that held her captive. She didn’t care. She just wanted to break free. She wanted to scream at them, hurt them, make them feel even a fraction of what she was feeling. Jhoanna wasn’t an experiment. She wasn’t a tool. She was hers . The one she loved to tease. The one she loved, period.

And Colet—somehow, impossibly, she managed to break the entire pole free. She and Mikha collapsed to the ground with it, but they didn’t move after that. They didn’t run. They didn’t fight. They just lay there, screaming, sobbing, drowning in the grief neither of them could comprehend.

Colet had promised herself she wouldn’t get mad at Jho anymore. But how could she keep a promise to someone who might never coming back?

They all prayed, in broken whispers, in desperate thoughts, that the experiment would work. That something, anything , would bring Jhoanna back.

Because without her, there was nothing left.

The room was drowning in chaos—screams, the rattle of chains, the sound of breathless sobs—but amidst it all, Nerius and Vergara stood still, watching. Waiting. Their gazes never wavered from the screen, their silence louder than any of the girls' cries.

Would Jhoanna come back, or would she stay dead?

On the screen, machines surrounded her like vultures, their sharp, metallic limbs poised over her body, waiting to tear into her. The sight alone sent a sickening wave of terror through the girls. If Jhoanna had been awake to see this, she would have been terrified. For once, they were glad she wasn’t.

Then, the needles pierced her.

Nothing.

No convulsion, no sudden gasp for air, no flicker of recognition in her empty face.

What was supposed to happen?

Aiah stopped breathing. Sheena’s nails dug into her palms hard enough to bleed. Gwen, wide-eyed and trembling, mouthed Jhoanna’s name as if she could summon her back just by saying it. Stacey had gone completely still, her mind unable to accept what she was seeing.

And then, the sound that shattered the air.

The crackle of the walkie-talkie.

A hesitant voice on the other end, filled with the kind of hesitation that only came with delivering terrible news.

"It’s not working."

Everything stopped.

For a moment, it felt like time itself had frozen.

The girls shook their heads, violently rejecting the reality being forced upon them. No. No, this wasn’t happening.

Nerius spoke then, his voice eerily sharp.

"Try again. Electric shocks. Insert it again."

For the first time, there was something unsteady in his tone. Was it desperation? Was it because he wanted to save Jhoanna, or was it because he needed this experiment to succeed? The girls didn’t care. Let him play scientist all he wanted—so long as it worked.

The doctors obeyed.

Electric shock.

A new injection.

Another.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Each attempt felt like it was pulling the girls closer to the grave alongside Jhoanna. Their hearts slammed against their ribs, their bodies tensed as if they could force their souls into that room, forcing Jhoanna back through sheer will alone.

Jhoanna’s body convulsed violently, electric shocks ripping through her, forcing her limbs to jerk in ways they shouldn’t. Needles plunged into her skin, delivering something cold, something unnatural. Over and over, they tried. Over and over, nothing changed.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

The girls felt like they were dying with her. Their lungs refused to work, their hearts ached in a way that felt too real, too final. It was as if something inside them was breaking apart, crumbling into dust.

And then—

A sound.

Sharp. Piercing. Frantic.

The heart monitor.

The erratic, stuttering beeping slammed into them like a punch to the chest.

Aiah let out a choked sob. Maloi’s hands clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Sheena’s lips parted in something between a gasp and a prayer. Gwen’s knees nearly gave out beneath her.

Nerius scrambled for his walkie-talkie, his fingers twitching, his voice raw and breathless. “What did you add?”

Silence. Then a pause. Hesitation.

“I… I took another person’s heart’s blood. But it was dead. Yet somehow—”

Nerius didn’t care.

A sharp, gleeful sound tore from his throat, something between a laugh and a whoop, wild and unhinged. Beside him, Nicolas Vergara let out a slow breath, something smug and satisfied curling at the edges of his lips. His wife was coming back.

The girls barely noticed. They barely processed anything beyond the image on the screen.

Jhoanna was alive.

Jhoanna had come back.

Their eyes burned, their bodies frozen in place as they stared, terrified to blink, terrified to believe it wasn’t real.

Then, her eyes opened.

Black. Hollow. Empty.

The girls inhaled sharply, waiting for something—recognition, warmth, even confusion. But there was nothing.

Still, she was breathing.

Still, she was here.

And right now, that was all that mattered.

The moment shattered under the weight of Nerius’ voice, dripping with amusement.

Slowly, he turned to them, flexing his hands. The skin was mismatched, the fingers stitched together—jagged seams of flesh from different people, a twisted patchwork of stolen parts.

Then, he started walking.

One by one, he stood before each girl, taking his time, letting the silence stretch unbearably. He lingered just long enough to inspect their hands. Aiah flinched at his closeness, every nerve in her body screaming. Maloi clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. Gwen turned her face away, swallowing the bile rising in her throat.

Colet.

He didn’t stop at Colet.

And then—Mikha.

His steps slowed. His gaze flickered to her hands.

A smile crept onto his face.

“Your fingers,” he murmured, voice smooth, almost admiring. “They’re really beautiful.”

He flexed his own, mismatched and wrong, as if already imagining how hers would fit.

“Luckily, I need a new one.”

The room went silent.

A second later, Aiah shattered it.

"AKO NA LANG!"

Aiah's voice cracked, the sound ripping from her throat, wild and desperate.

"AKO NA LANG! WAG NA SIYA!"

Her entire body convulsed, twisting violently against the chains, her wrists rubbed raw from the struggle. It didn’t matter. She would tear herself apart if she had to. She just had to get to Mikha. She had to stop this.

"Mikhs! PUTA! WAG NA IKAW!" Her voice was unraveling, a mess of sobs and choked gasps. 

Aiah thrashed harder. The chains dug into her, slicing skin, drawing blood. She didn’t care. The pain didn’t matter.

"Please," she sobbed. "Please, Mikha, don’t."

But Mikha wasn’t reacting.

She only looked at Nerius, her expression unreadable, something dangerously quiet settling in her eyes.

"If I do this," she said, voice steady, but so, so tired, "you won’t touch the others? You won’t experiment on Jho anymore? You’re finished with her, right?"

For a moment, Nerius simply stared at her, head tilting slightly, studying her like a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out.

Then, he nodded.

And just like that—Aiah broke.

A sound left her that wasn’t a scream, wasn’t a sob—just something hollow. Like something inside her had been gutted out, leaving only an empty shell behind.

She stopped struggling.

The fight drained from her body, leaving her trembling, barely breathing, as she stared at Mikha through wet, burning eyes.

"No," she whispered. "No, please."

Mikha didn’t look at her.

And Aiah had never felt so helpless.

On the screen, Jhoanna’s bed moved slowly down the stark white corridor. The wheels groaned against the tile, a rhythmic, hollow sound that made the room feel smaller, like the walls were inching closer, suffocating them. Her body—still, cold, lifeless just moments ago—was being swallowed by the blinding sterility of the hospital lights.

Colet’s breath trembled in her throat.

“Where are you taking her?” she asked, her voice stripped raw, barely more than a whisper.

She already knew the answer. It didn’t matter. She just needed to hear it, needed some thread of control, some sliver of certainty in a world that had spiraled so far beyond her grasp.

Nerius didn’t even look at her. His focus was still on the screen, on his success, his victory.

“Just to her room,” he said, careless, dismissive. Then, with a smirk, he added, “Me and Ms. Lim had a deal. I might be a madman, but I do stay true to my word.”

Colet stared at him.

The words crawled under her skin, burrowed deep. He said them so easily, like they weren’t covered in blood, like he hadn’t just played god with Jhoanna’s life. Like she wasn’t lying somewhere—alive, but different, but wrong.

Something twisted inside her, something dark and violent and clawing to get out.

Her fingers curled into fists.

“Take me instead,” she forced out, the words shaking but firm.

Nerius finally turned to her, interest flickering in his cold, mismatched eyes. He blinked, tilting his head like a predator sizing up new prey.

“You didn’t even look at mine,” she continued, forcing herself to hold his gaze. Her throat was dry, her stomach sick with dread, but she didn’t look away.

For a moment, silence stretched between them.

Then—

Nerius chuckled. The sound was light, almost amused, but beneath it was something sharp, something cruel.

“Your father wouldn’t allow it,” he mused, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Still, there was curiosity in his expression. Slowly, he stepped toward her.

Colet didn’t move.

She wanted to recoil, to flinch, to take a step back—but she forced herself still, even as his grotesque, patchwork hands reached for her.

His fingers wrapped around hers, cold and unnatural. Different textures, different skin tones. She swallowed back bile as he turned her hand over, inspecting it like a craftsman studying raw material.

Then—he turned to Vergara.

Waiting.

A silent question.

Colet’s stomach twisted violently.

“No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She turned to her father, desperation bleeding into every syllable. “No—Father, please. Not Mikha. Please.”

For the first time, her father hesitated.

It was barely a flicker, barely a moment. But Colet saw it—the tightness in his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows, the way his hands clenched at his sides.

For a second, she thought—maybe.

Maybe he would say something.

Maybe he would stop this.

But then—

“Wag ka na magsalita, Col.”

Mikha’s voice was steady, even.

Too even.

Colet turned sharply, her breath stuttering in her chest.

Mikha wasn’t looking at her.

Her face was unreadable, blank—like she had already decided, already accepted what was going to happen.

Like she had already let go.

“Mikha,” Colet choked out, her fingers trembling at her sides.

Mikha finally met her gaze.

And then, she smiled.

Not the kind of smile Colet wanted to see.

Not warm. Not reassuring.

It was small, tired, empty.

“It’s okay,” Mikha said, soft.

No, it wasn’t.

“It’s okay,” she repeated, quieter. Final.

“Ako na.”

Vergara inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He shook his head once, muttering a quiet, firm, “No.”

But Nerius was already smiling.

That sick, satisfied smile.

Like a child who had just gotten exactly what he wanted.

He shrugged, careless, indifferent, as if Mikha’s sacrifice was nothing more than a trivial exchange. Then, his gaze flickered back to her, to her hands.

And that was it.

“Untie her,” he ordered.

The guards moved without hesitation.

The girls broke.

Aiah was the first to scream.

“No! Mikha! Huwag! Please, Mikha, please—”

She fought against the restraints so hard that her wrists split open, raw and bleeding. She thrashed, her whole body writhing in desperation, in agony, in a helpless, mindless rage.

The guards moved fast. Too fast.

The girls’ screams ripped through the air, ragged and desperate, their voices breaking under the weight of terror. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Mikha was already being dragged away, her body limp in their grasp, her feet skidding uselessly against the cold, unfeeling stone.

And then—

A flash. A blur. Movement.

Gwen.

She wasn’t bound like the others. Not completely. Only her hands had been shackled. She was not tied to a pole, giving her just enough freedom to fight.

So she did.

No hesitation. No thought. Just raw, reckless instinct. Rage. Desperation.

She lunged. Her body slammed into the nearest guard, her head colliding with his face in a brutal, sickening crunch. The crack of bone split the air. His cry was muffled by the rush of blood gushing from his nose as he staggered back, disoriented, his hands flying up too late.

But she had no time to revel in it.

A fist met her jaw, hard and merciless.

Her head snapped sideways. The impact shattered through her like glass, sending her crumpling to the ground. Pain exploded—white-hot, searing—spreading like wildfire through her skull. Her vision blurred, the world turning liquid, tilting at sickening angles. She gasped, clawing at the floor, trying to push up, trying to fight—

But her body betrayed her.

“Gwen!”

Colet’s voice. Frantic. Frayed. Drenched in fear.

She tried. God, she tried. Her fingers scraped against stone, but her limbs felt like they were sinking in quicksand, heavy, sluggish, useless.

And still, Mikha was being taken.

Nerius didn’t spare Gwen a glance. Didn’t acknowledge her struggle, her pain, the blood staining her lips. He was above it. Detached. Unmoved.

“Faster,” he barked.

The guards obeyed. No hesitation.

Mikha was yanked forward, her arms twisted so viciously behind her back it looked like they might snap. She didn’t scream. Didn’t fight. She barely even flinched.

And somehow, that was worse.

Nerius and Nicolas followed, their steps slow, measured. Unbothered. Like they weren’t destroying lives. Like this was routine. Like this meant nothing.

And the others—

They watched. Powerless. Helpless.

Their throats raw from screaming. Their chests shuddering with sobs that never fully left their lips. Their fingers curling into fists they couldn’t swing. Their bodies trembling with a fear they could never outrun.

And Mikha—

Mikha disappeared beyond the door.

And just like that, the world shattered all over again.

MIKHA 

As the guards carried me, I felt myself slipping—drifting between consciousness and the abyss. My body was failing, my strength ebbing away like water through cupped hands. I flexed my fingers weakly, knowing that in mere moments, one of them would be gone. A part of me would be severed, stolen. The thought clawed at my mind, but what truly shattered me wasn’t the pain, nor the fear—it was the loss of something far more intimate.

What would it feel like to live without all my fingers? Would I still be able to drive, to feel the hum of my motorcycle beneath me, the wind slicing against my skin? Would I still have control? But most of all—would I still be able to hold Aiah’s hand the way I always had? To intertwine our fingers perfectly, as if they were meant to fit together? The thought hollowed me out, left me raw. Would she still love me, even when I was incomplete?

But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. This was for Jho. This was for the girls. If I had to choose again, I would make the same decision without hesitation. I would lose my fingers a hundred times over if it meant saving them.

They dragged me into a sterile, clinical room—cold, detached, impersonal. The kind of place where pain was studied, cataloged, and inflicted without remorse. The same room, perhaps, where Jho had suffered. My stomach twisted at the thought.

Colet’s father had disappeared somewhere, leaving me alone with the guards. They worked quickly, efficiently, ensuring I was bound tightly to the table. The leather straps dug into my skin, cutting off what little circulation remained in my weakening limbs. Once satisfied, Nerius dismissed them with a curt order. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing me in.

For a moment, he simply stared at me.

Like I was a puzzle yet to be solved. A specimen on a slab. A problem that demanded an answer.

I met his gaze, unflinching.

Even as terror coiled in my gut, I refused to look away.

"Crush mo ba ako? Can't we just get this over with? I just want it done. Faster." My voice was strained, desperate to mask the fear crawling up my spine.

But he just stared at me, confused, as if my words were foreign to him. Then, slowly, he started walking toward me, pushing a table filled with instruments sharp enough to carve away pieces of me. And finally, the terror settled in, deep and unshakable.

As he prepared his tools, he spoke, his voice almost casual. “Some people die. They cannot take the pain.”

I sighed. As if I had a choice. Was this really how it would end for me? If these were my final moments, at least I knew Jho was alive. That was enough.

I looked at him then, really looked at him. For the first time, he resembled a normal doctor, methodical and precise, setting up his tools as if I were just another patient.

“As long as you stay true to your word, I’ll be fine,” I muttered.

He met my gaze for a beat before turning back to my hand. With deliberate care, he examined my fingers, searching for something, as if deciding which one was worth taking. When he found it, he wrapped a rubber band tightly around it, the pressure biting into my skin. Then, he dabbed the area with alcohol-soaked cotton, the cold sting barely registering over the panic flooding my veins.

“It’s strange, really,” he mused. “How people are willing to do anything for the ones they love.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Of course, it’s weird for you. You’re an insane man.”

He chuckled, a sound far too light for what was about to happen. But then his expression shifted, turning serious, deliberate. I instinctively tried to pull away as he reached for the tools—the very ones he would use to take a part of me.

And I couldn’t believe it.

My last moments might be with him. A man who didn’t even understand what love meant.

"You love my daughter this much? You're willing to lose a finger for her?" His voice carried a mix of curiosity and something darker, something unreadable.

I met his gaze, unwavering. "Yes. You might never understand why, but we would do anything for your daughter. Always. No matter the cost."

For a moment, he was silent, watching me, weighing my words as if trying to decipher something beyond his comprehension. Then, finally, his lips curled into that familiar, twisted smirk.

"You ready?"

And just like that, he was back to his sinister self.

Chapter Text

MIKHA  

"Since I'm feeling generous today, I might just give you anesthesia. I don’t usually do it. But since you care so much for my daughter, consider this a small act of kindness."

He said it with an ease that sent a chill down my spine, like he was offering a minor courtesy, as if he were letting me cut in line rather than deciding how much of me I would leave behind. As if losing a finger was nothing more than misplacing a trinket, something easily forgotten.

But I didn’t protest. I didn’t beg. This was mercy, in whatever twisted form he chose to give it.

He reached for a syringe, his movements precise, practiced. I watched as he filled it with clear liquid, my breath shallow, my pulse thudding in my ears. When he pressed the needle against the flesh of the finger he had claimed, I braced myself. The sharp sting made me flinch, but the sensation dulled quickly. A few more seconds, and the cold numbness spread, devouring any feeling in its wake.

He waited a moment, then tested it.

"Nararamdaman mo pa ba 'to?"

He jabbed the numbed flesh with the tip of the syringe. I shook my head. My voice had left me.

This was real.

This was happening.

"Take a breath, sweetheart."

I did. Shallow and shaky, but I did. My eyes fluttered shut as I forced air into my lungs, grasping onto the fleeting illusion of control. I willed myself to be ready, to brace for the moment the blade would descend, for the irrevocable loss that would follow.

But then—

A sound. A shuffle of movement. The scrape of something slipping, falling, crashing onto the ground.

And my eyes flew open.

The sight in front of me sent a jolt through my system, freezing me in place.

Nicolas Vergara stood there, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, a syringe still clutched in his shaking hand. And at his feet—Nerius. Unmoving but still alive, his breaths shallow, his body limp. Would it make me a monster if I wished he never woke up? If I wanted him to stay down forever?

No. That wasn’t monstrous. That was justice.

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth as Nicolas turned to me, his face unreadable, his movements rushed as he worked to untie me. His fingers fumbled, breath still unsteady. And then he spoke.

"Your father and I have been friends for a long time," he murmured, his voice almost too soft to hear. "I might be desperate—desperate enough to go this far, desperate enough to become just as monstrous as these scientists—but I could never hurt my friend’s daughter." He hesitated, as if the weight of his next words might crush him. "I called your father. He’s coming to save you and everyone. Get the others out. I’m sorry it had to come to this."

I stared at him, my heart pounding, my mind refusing to process his words. After everything—after the pain he had inflicted, after the way he had broken Colet, after how he had ruined lives in pursuit of one that was already lost—was he still capable of guilt? Of regret?

Did it even matter?

The moment my hands were free, my body moved before my mind could stop it.

My fist collided with his face, snapping his head to the side. The satisfying crack of bone against skin echoed in the room, but it wasn’t enough. I hit him again, harder this time, pouring everything into that single blow—every ounce of rage, betrayal, and agony.

"Kulang pa ‘yan sa ginawa mo kay Colet simula pa nung bata siya," I snarled, my voice thick with fury. "Para sa aming lahat ‘yan. Kung akala mo mapapatawad ka namin—na mapapatawad ka ni Colet—nagkakamali ka."

He didn’t fight back. He barely even flinched. He just stood there, his shoulders sinking as if the weight of his sins had finally settled on him. And in his eyes, there was no anger, no protest—just quiet acceptance.

I turned on my heel, ready to leave him behind, but his voice stopped me.

He tossed two guns toward me. I caught them on instinct, my fingers tightening around the cold metal.

"Dalian mo," he said, his voice hoarse. "Magigising din ‘tong si Nerius maya-maya."

I hesitated for only a second. My mind flickered to him one last time—this man who had spent years tearing everything apart, and yet, in this moment, he was piecing something back together in the only way he knew how.

Then I saw it.

The way his hands moved, gathering vials, syringes, pieces of the formula that had made Jhoanna’s resurrection possible. In that moment, it hit me—he was willing to save everyone, but he wasn’t willing to let go. He couldn’t. Not when the possibility of bringing her back still lingered like a ghost he refused to exorcise. Colet’s mother. His wife. The love he had shattered worlds for.

And for a fleeting second, I wondered—if I were in his position, would I have done the same?

If Aiah died, and I had even the smallest chance to bring her back, would I take it? Would I cling to that desperate hope, no matter the cost?

Even if it meant tearing apart the lives of everyone around me?

Even if it meant becoming the very thing I despised?

The thought lodged itself deep in my chest, heavy and suffocating. Because I didn’t know the answer.

And that terrified me.

I don’t know why, but something inside me cracked.

I turned and ran.

The halls were too quiet, the emptiness unsettling. The absence of guards sent unease crawling down my spine, but I kept moving, gripping the guns as if they were the only things tethering me to reality.

And then I found the door.

The room where the girls were trapped.

I didn’t hesitate.

I pushed the door open, raised my gun, and fired.

Two shots.

Two guards down—the same ones who had dragged me here, the same ones who had hurt them.

They didn’t even have time to scream.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the power was in my hands.

I tore through the room, my hands working faster than my mind, untying the girls with frantic urgency. Their voices overlapped—shaky, confused, desperate for answers—but there was no time to explain, no time for anything but action.

“Tanggalin niyo na ang tali ng iba! Pupuntahan pa natin si Jho!” I barked, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

They didn’t hesitate. Their hands, though trembling, moved quickly, unbinding one another, pulling each other up. The moment the last restraint was undone, relief flooded their faces. It was fragile, hesitant—like they were still afraid to believe this was real.

And then—

Aiah.

She crashed into me, her arms wrapping around me so tightly I could feel her heartbeat slamming against my own. I staggered back, but I didn’t let go. I couldn’t.

Something inside me cracked wide open.

My hands found her face, cupping it as if she might disappear if I loosened my grip. My fingers trembled as they traced the warmth of her skin, the familiar shape of her—every curve, every detail I had feared I’d never feel again.

Moments ago, I had been prepared to lose a part of myself. To live with the absence of something that had always been mine. I had braced for the ache of missing what could never grow back, for the ghost of what was once whole.

But here I was.

With her.

Still whole. Still hers.

And when I met her eyes—wide, searching, full of the same quiet terror I felt in my own chest—something inside me whispered that maybe, just maybe, we could still make it out of this. Together.

Even as I reveled in the warmth of Aiah’s touch, in the way she clung to me like I was something worth holding onto, I forced myself to refocus. There was no time to get lost in this moment—not yet.

I cleared my throat, gathering everyone’s attention. My voice came out steadier than I expected.

“Pinakawalan ako ng papa mo, Colet.” I met her eyes, searching for understanding, for anything that might make sense of what had just happened. “Hindi ko alam kung bakit… pero baka naguguilty na siya.” I exhaled sharply, pushing past the confusion, the questions that would have to wait. “Pero sa ngayon, si Jhoanna ang kailangan natin hanapin.”

That was all it took.

Everyone snapped into action, surging toward the door with renewed urgency.

As we rushed out, I threw the gun at Colet. She caught it, her grip firm despite the whirlwind of emotions flashing across her face. Gwen moved fast, sweeping up the weapons from the fallen guards, her movements sharp, instinctual. Stacey hesitated only for a second before grabbing one too—she didn’t know how to use it, but none of that mattered now.

They all knew.

This wasn’t about skill or certainty. It was about survival.

And we weren’t leaving without Jhoanna.

THIRD PERSON 

The girls tore through the building like a storm, relentless and unforgiving. They moved as one—driven, desperate, unyielding. If they had to shoot, they didn’t hesitate. If they had to fight, they fought like animals backed into a corner. Every obstacle in their path was met with violence, every enemy cut down with the kind of fury that only came from fear and love intertwining into something unstoppable.

But with every empty room they burst into, with every hall they cleared only to find more silence, the creeping dread settled deeper into their bones. They were running out of time. Nerius would wake up. The weight of that truth pressed against their chests, but they couldn’t stop now. Not when Jhoanna was still out there.

In a dimly lit room, she was trapped, surrounded by the stench of sweat and cruelty. Five guards loomed over her, their eyes gleaming with something vile, something she had seen too many times before.

One of them leaned in, his breath hot and rancid against her skin. “Alam mo ba?” His voice was slow, taunting, thick with amusement. “Hindi pa ako nakakahawak nito.”

His hand moved toward her chest.

Jhoanna didn’t move.

She could fight—she had fought before—but she was so, so tired.

She shut her eyes.

Would this ever end? Would she always be fighting?

Would she ever be free?

Before he could touch her—before his disgusting, calloused hands could close around her skin—a gunshot rang out, slicing through the thick, suffocating air. The sound was deafening in the small room, a sharp crack that sent shockwaves through her body.

Jhoanna flinched violently, her breath catching in her throat, heart slamming against her ribs. For a split second, she was certain the bullet was meant for her. A sick, weary part of her almost wished it had been. Maybe then, this endless fight would finally stop. Maybe then, she wouldn’t have to keep enduring, keep breathing, keep waiting for the next wave of pain.

But the pain never came.

Instead, the hand that had been reaching for her stilled in midair before the guard staggered back, his mouth opening in a silent gasp. Blood bloomed from his chest, dark and thick, spreading across his uniform. His body crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap.

Then another shot.

And another.

The other guards barely had time to react before they were collapsing one by one, their bodies slamming against the concrete, their last breaths rattling out of them. The suffocating laughter, the taunts, the sickening touch of their presence—all of it vanished in an instant, replaced by the echo of gunfire and the harsh scent of blood.

Jhoanna’s entire body trembled, her mind struggling to catch up. It happened so fast. Too fast. She had been trapped, helpless, bracing herself for whatever horror came next, and then—just like that—it was over.

Her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps as she turned her head toward the doorway, her heart hammering against her ribs. A burst of light from the hall blinded her for a moment, stinging her eyes, but through the haze, through the sharp burn of exhaustion and shock, she finally saw them.

Familiar figures.

Real. Alive. Here.

Her vision blurred, her chest tightened, and a broken sound almost escaped her lips. She blinked rapidly, trying to ground herself, to believe what she was seeing. After everything—after the pain, the fear, the hopelessness—they were here. They had come for her.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, her hands still shaking, her body still too weak to move. But at that moment, none of it mattered. The nightmare wasn’t over—not yet—but for the first time in what felt like forever, she could finally see the light breaking through the darkness.

Stacey was the first to reach Jhoanna. She practically fell to her knees, her hands flying to the heavy chains that bound her, fingers trembling as she tried to pry them loose. Her breathing was ragged, uneven, the weight of everything pressing down on her. She pulled, twisted, but the chains wouldn’t budge. A frustrated sob escaped her lips.

The others rushed forward, surrounding Jhoanna, their desperation mirroring Stacey’s. They didn’t just want to free her—they needed to. They clawed at the restraints, worked together, hands fumbling over cold metal, over bruised skin. The chains were thick, the knots unyielding, as if mocking their struggle. But they didn’t stop. They wouldn’t.

Jhoanna sat motionless, her body barely able to hold itself up, exhaustion pressing into her bones like lead. She should have been flinching, should have been recoiling from the hands that touched her. Ever since she had been dragged into this nightmare, touch had meant pain. It had meant control, ownership, cruelty. Every hand that had reached for her in this place had taken something from her—her strength, her dignity, her sense of self.

But this—this was different.

The hands reaching for her now weren’t trying to take. They were trying to give.

Stacey’s grip was firm but gentle, her fingers shaking as she fumbled with the chains. Gwen’s palm pressed lightly against her shoulder, steadying her, grounding her, as if silently telling her she was safe now. And then there was Aiah.

Aiah’s touch was hesitant, almost fearful, as if she were afraid Jhoanna might break apart under her fingertips. Her hand ran softly down Jhoanna’s arm, light as a whisper, yet somehow, it carried more weight than anything else in the room.

Jhoanna had spent so long fearing touch, hating it, dreading the moment someone’s fingers would dig into her flesh, taking something she couldn’t afford to lose. But now—now, she let herself lean into it.

She let herself feel.

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t flinch.

Because this wasn’t pain. This wasn’t control.

This was love.

And after everything—after the darkness, the fear, the agony—she needed it more than she had ever needed anything.

The moment the last chain hit the ground, Jhoanna's body betrayed her. She collapsed forward, too weak to hold herself up, and Stacey was there to catch her. The weight of her, the sheer exhaustion radiating from her fragile frame, almost sent them both to the floor. But Stacey held on, her arms locking around Jhoanna with a desperation that felt like life or death.

Jhoanna trembled against her, her fingers weakly grasping at Stacey’s shirt, as if she needed something—anything—to anchor her to reality. Her breath came out in short, ragged gasps, her body shuddering with the force of emotions she could no longer contain. A sob tore from her throat, muffled against Stacey’s shoulder, and it shattered something inside everyone in that room.

The other girls stood frozen, their own emotions caught between relief and an overwhelming, suffocating grief. A part of them wanted to reach out, to hold Jhoanna, to take away even a fraction of her pain. But they knew—this moment belonged to Stacey.

And Stacey was crying too, clutching Jhoanna tighter, her hand cradling the back of her head like she was trying to hold her together, like she could protect her from every horrible thing that had already been done. She rocked her gently, whispering something only Jhoanna could hear, something soft and broken.

And then, in the heavy, suffocating silence, they saw it.

The bruises.

Scattered across her arms, her legs—dark, ugly marks of pain blooming over her skin. Some old, some fresh. A sickening reminder of everything she had endured.

Rage burned through them like wildfire.

Gwen clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. Aiah turned away, blinking fast, as if trying to keep herself from shattering. Colet’s whole body shook, her breathing ragged, barely containing the fury threatening to consume her.

Jhoanna had suffered. More than any of them had known. More than they could bear to witness.

But she was here. She had survived.

And now, it wasn’t just about getting out.

It was about taking back what was stolen.

It was about making sure that no one—no one—could ever hurt Jhoanna again.

Stacey tightened her grip around Jhoanna, her arms trembling from exhaustion and something deeper—something raw and desperate. Gwen moved in beside her, slipping Jhoanna’s other arm over her shoulder, steadying her with quiet strength. The weight of Jhoanna against her was paradoxical—both unbearably heavy and heartbreakingly light, as if she were carrying something fragile, something precious that had been shattered too many times and was barely holding itself together.

For a second, it hit Gwen like a punch to the chest. She was helping Jhoanna now, carrying her, but wasn’t it too late? Wasn’t this supposed to be her responsibility long before this moment? If she had been stronger, smarter, if she had fought harder—would Jhoanna have ever ended up here in the first place? Because no matter how many times she told herself it wasn’t her fault, no matter how much she wanted to believe that, some part of her always, always would.

The girls moved fast. They tore through the hallways like fire through dry grass, their footsteps relentless, their hearts beating even faster. Gunshots rang in sharp, brutal bursts, each one a declaration of war. If anyone tried to stand in their way, they didn’t hesitate. Mercy was a luxury none of them could afford anymore. They weren’t scared. They weren’t stopping. Nothing could stop them now.

In the middle of it all, a voice, soft yet certain, cut through the chaos.

“Gwen?”

Gwen froze for a second. It was barely above a whisper, but it struck her harder than any bullet.

Jhoanna rarely said her name like that—gentle, familiar, safe. Gwen had convinced herself she might never hear it again, not from Jhoanna’s lips, not with recognition. And for a moment, panic flared in her chest. Was Jhoanna in pain? Was she slipping away? Was this—

“What’s wrong? May masakit ba?” Gwen’s voice cracked at the edges, betraying her fear. Even Stacey turned her head, waiting for the answer.

Jhoanna shook her head. She was smiling—barely, but it was there, like a flicker of light in the darkness. The truth was, everything hurt. Every muscle screamed, every breath burned, every inch of her skin ached from bruises and cuts that told the story of everything she had been through. And yet, none of it mattered. Because despite it all, she had made it. She had them.

“I remember now,” she murmured, voice thick with something between nostalgia and grief. “The memories I had with you. With all of you. When my father turned me into a child.”

Gwen sucked in a sharp breath. She didn’t know where Jhoanna was going with this, but she didn’t interrupt. She just let her speak, let her exist in this moment. God, she had missed this. Jhoanna’s voice, her words, the way she always spoke like she was holding onto something important, like she wanted the world to hear.

And then, finally, Jhoanna said the words that shattered Gwen completely.

“Gwen, it’s not your fault.”

The breath left Gwen’s lungs in a shaky, silent gasp. For so long, she had carried this guilt, this unrelenting ache in her chest that told her she could have done more, should have done more. It had buried itself inside her, carving wounds so deep that she thought they’d never heal. But now, here Jhoanna was, giving her the permission she had never given herself—to let go.

Tears welled in Gwen’s eyes, but she bit them back. They weren’t safe yet. It wasn’t over.

The sirens howled through the night, an unrelenting wail that echoed across the blood-stained walls. It was the sound of salvation, of an ending, of hope clawing its way back to them. Mikha inhaled sharply, holding onto the moment as if it were fragile, something she couldn’t afford to let slip away. Then, with a breath that trembled between relief and exhaustion, she whispered, “Finally.”

The entrance was just ahead. Just a few more steps, and they would be free. The weight of everything—the bruises, the fear, the endless cycle of running and fighting—would finally be behind them. The wind was already teasing them, its cold fingers reaching out like a promise of something new. But as they moved forward, as the taste of freedom was almost on their lips, a voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and final.

“Take one more step, and he dies.”

Their bodies snapped around instantly. Their hearts, once pounding in frantic hope, now beat in terror.

Nerius stood there, blood streaking down his forehead, his expression a twisted mask of fury. His breath was ragged, but his grip on the gun was unwavering. And that gun? It was pressed against Nicolas Vergara’s skull.

The man who had let them go. The man who had ruined them all.

The sight sent a jolt through Colet’s chest, her body instinctively recoiling. Her father. The man who had hurt her, shaped her childhood into something unrecognizable, turned love into something she feared rather than cherished. The politician who built his empire on lies, who broke people without remorse. But right now, he wasn’t that man. He wasn’t the monster who raised her, nor the heartless official who manipulated everything in his favor. Right now, he was just a man—one who had given up everything for a chance to bring back the woman he loved. And now, he stood there, vulnerable, at the mercy of another monster.

Nerius’ hand was steady, his finger hovering over the trigger. He wasn’t bluffing. He was enraged, humiliated, desperate. He was willing to take everything down with him if it meant he wouldn’t lose.

The girls tensed, their weapons raised, but hesitation flickered in their eyes. They had fought so hard, bled for this moment, and now, the very man who had once been their enemy stood between them and their freedom.

Colet’s hands trembled as she gripped the gun Mikha had tossed her earlier. She had dreamed of the day her father would suffer, imagined what it would feel like to watch him crumble. But now, standing here, watching the conflict in his eyes, she didn’t know what to do.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to meet Colet’s gaze. And for the first time in her life, she saw something in his eyes she never thought she would—regret.

Her breath hitched.

Regret had come too late for Nicolas Vergara. He had spent years drowning in the weight of his own sins, clawing for redemption in the most twisted of ways, and now, standing at the mercy of Nerius’ gun, he realized—this was where it all ended. There was no undoing the past, no amount of power or influence that could erase the blood he had spilled, the lives he had destroyed. He had spent a lifetime justifying his cruelty, convincing himself that love and control were the same, that fear was the only language people truly understood. But now, with cold steel pressed against his temple, he finally understood the truth. This was justice.

Colet’s grip tightened around the gun, her breath slow and measured, though every muscle in her body trembled with the weight of the moment. She had spent her entire life fearing this man, shrinking beneath the weight of his presence, suffocating under his expectations. He had never been a father to her. He had been an obligation, a shadow looming over her childhood, a name that carried more weight in politics than it ever did in her heart. He had hurt her more than anyone else ever had, stolen the kind of love that she had only ever seen from a distance. And now? Now, he was at her mercy. She had the power to save him, to grant him the second chance he had never given anyone else. But she didn’t want to.

She inhaled sharply, steadying herself, and then exhaled the words that sealed his fate. “Kill him.”

The room shifted, the air thick with something indescribable.

Nerius hesitated, his grip on the gun faltering for a split second. He hadn’t expected that. He had wanted a fight, had wanted Colet to cry, to beg, to shatter beneath the weight of the choice before her. Wasn’t that what love was? Desperation? Sacrifice? A willingness to suffer for someone else? He had spent his entire life trying to understand it, twisting it into something he could control, dissecting it like a machine that just needed the right pieces to function. But he had miscalculated. Colet did not beg. She did not break. And Nicolas—he did not fight.

Instead, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling as if he could already feel the weight of the bullet tearing through him. There was no fear in his posture, no last-minute grasp for life. Only resignation. Perhaps even relief. He had been running for too long, clawing for something just out of reach, and now, finally, he could stop. Maybe this was his punishment. Maybe this was his absolution. Maybe this was the moment he would finally see his wife again.

And then—

“Father.”

The voice was soft, but it cut through the tension like a blade.

Jhoanna.

She was shaking, bloodied and exhausted, barely holding herself up, but she stood anyway. Not just for herself, but for the man who had ruined her. Her entire life, she had been taught to fear him, to obey, to never question. And yet, as she looked at him now, she saw not the monster who had terrorized her, but a man who had already lost everything.

Nerius turned to her, expecting rage, expecting hate, expecting the same fire that burned in Colet’s eyes. But there was none. Only something raw, something aching, something that shattered the careful walls he had built around himself.

“Father, please stop.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t waver. “It’s over now.”

And in that moment, Nerius felt something inside him break.

This was love.

Not power. Not control. Not bending someone until they broke. Love was seeing every terrible, ugly part of someone and still believing, somehow, that there was something worth saving.

For the first time, he understood.

But was understanding ever enough?

But it wasn’t enough.

Nerius shoved Nicolas away, his grip tightening around the gun. He couldn’t see straight. His heart was a violent, pounding force against his ribs, his breath coming too fast, too uneven. His vision blurred at the edges, burning with frustration, with rage, with the unbearable weight of everything slipping through his fingers.

This wasn’t the ending he wanted. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

His body moved before his mind caught up. He raised the gun. He didn’t think. He didn’t see. There was no moment of calculation, no consideration of where he was aiming, no thought about who was standing in front of him. His mind screamed at him to take control, to take something back, to force the world to bend before it collapsed entirely.

So he pulled the trigger.

The sound split the air, shattering the room. A single, violent crack that drowned everything else out.

And then, movement.

Too fast. A blur of motion, too quick for him to process. Someone gasped. Someone moved.

Jhoanna.

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think. She saw the gun, saw where it was pointing, saw Gwen standing there, completely still, too shocked to react. And before she even realized what she was doing, her body was already in motion. She threw herself forward, arms wrapping around Gwen, pulling her in, holding her close, as if sheer force alone could shield her. She barely had time to register the warmth of Gwen’s body against hers, the way the girl stiffened, the way she clung back instinctively.

Then the pain came.

It tore through her like fire, searing, unbearable, spreading through her side like wildfire devouring everything in its path. The force of it nearly knocked her off her feet, sent her body reeling, but she gritted her teeth, locking her arms tighter around Gwen. Her legs trembled. Her knees nearly buckled. Her breath stuttered.

But she refused to let go.

She refused to fall.

Gwen was still standing. Still breathing. Still here. And that was enough.

The pain was distant now, fading into something dull, something weightless. But the warmth of Gwen’s hands, desperate and shaking, pressing against her, trying to hold her together, that was real. The sound of Colet screaming, raw and broken, that was real. The chaos, the footsteps rushing toward her, the voices all blurring into one frantic mess—real. But none of it mattered.

She had saved her.

She had done something right.

Her body was weak, trembling, but for the first time in her life, she felt—light. Like something had lifted from her, like something had finally fallen into place. And maybe she wouldn’t have long to hold onto it, maybe her time was slipping away faster than she could feel, but for once, it didn’t matter.

She had saved her.

The gun slipped from Nerius’ hands, hitting the floor with a hollow clatter that barely registered in his ears. He could only stare, breath ragged, heart hammering, mind spiraling into something he didn’t know how to stop.

This wasn’t what he meant to do.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

His daughter—his own daughter—was bleeding out before him, and she hadn’t even hesitated. Not for herself. Not for him. But for someone else. Someone who wasn’t even hers to protect. She had thrown herself into the line of fire without a second thought, without waiting for a plea, without thinking of what she would lose.

Love wasn’t supposed to be that.

Wasn’t it?

His fingers twitched. His breath stuttered. His world, the one he had built so carefully, the one he had gripped so tightly, was crumbling into something unrecognizable.

He had been wrong.

He had been wrong all along.

And now, staring at his daughter bleeding in someone else’s arms, watching as Gwen sobbed into her shoulder like she could hold her together by sheer force of will—he finally understood.

But it was too late.

It had always been too late.

Chapter Text

Gwen stood frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe, her body locked in place as Jhoanna clung to her. The warmth of Jhoanna’s arms was still there, still wrapped around her, but something was wrong. Something was slipping. Gwen felt it in the way Jhoanna’s grip loosened, in the unsteady tremble of her body, in the slow, shuddering breath against her shoulder.

And then, Jhoanna started to fall.

Stacey moved before she could think, before the weight of the moment could crush her into the same paralyzed stillness that had taken Gwen. Her own limbs screamed in protest, exhaustion clawing at her every step, but none of it mattered. She reached out, caught Jhoanna just in time, the force of it nearly taking them both down. It didn’t feel like she had caught someone else—it felt like the bullet had hit her instead, like the agony tearing through Jhoanna’s body had bled into her own.

They collapsed together.

The floor was cold against Stacey’s knees, but she didn’t care. She held onto Jhoanna, pulling her against her chest, gripping her tightly like that alone could keep her here, like that alone could stop her from slipping away.

Jhoanna was shaking. Or maybe Stacey was. Maybe it didn’t matter.

“Stay with me,” Stacey whispered, her voice breaking. It wasn’t an order. It wasn’t a plea. It was something desperate, something raw, something that ached too much to put into words.

She tightened her hold, burying her face into Jhoanna’s hair, as if pressing closer could anchor her, could keep her from fading, could force time to stop before it took her away.

Like a dam breaking, the moment the shock loosened its grip on them, they surged forward. The girls collapsed onto their knees around Jhoanna, pressing in as close as they could, shoulder to shoulder, trembling hands reaching, desperate to touch her, to feel her warmth, to ground themselves in the proof that she was still here.

But Stacey was already holding her, arms wrapped tightly around Jhoanna’s body, as if sheer will alone could keep her tethered to this world. And though none of them would ever say it, there was a quiet, selfish part of each of them that ached to take her place. Because if they were the ones holding Jhoanna, maybe—maybe—she wouldn’t leave. Maybe if they were the ones keeping her close, she would stay.

Maybe it would be enough.

Sheena was the first to reach out, fingers trembling as she searched, pressing against Jhoanna’s side until—there. The wound. Sticky warmth seeped through her fingers, hot and wet, and Sheena sucked in a sharp breath, her lungs locking up. It felt wrong. It felt unreal. Like her hands weren’t her own, like she was floating outside of her body, watching this scene unfold from somewhere far away. But the blood was real. The way it pulsed against her skin, sluggish yet unrelenting, was real.

And she couldn’t stop it.

No. No, she had to stop it. If she stopped the bleeding, Jhoanna wouldn’t die. Right? That’s how it worked. That had to be how it worked.

Tearing fabric from her clothes with frantic, jerky movements, she pressed down hard, her hands shaking. "Ate, andito na ako," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of the moment, the weight of her own helplessness. "Ate, sorry. Alam mo ba? Nag-aaral na ako ulit? Pinasok ako ni Ate Colet." She sniffled, blinking rapidly, willing herself not to cry, not now. "Hindi na ako babagsak ulit, basta… wag muna, ha?"

Jhoanna’s lips twitched into something that barely resembled a smile, weak and fleeting. But it was there. "Ganon ba?" she murmured, voice so faint it almost dissolved into the chaos surrounding them.

With effort, she lifted her hand, slow and trembling, until her fingers brushed against Sheena’s hair. A light, barely-there touch. Fragile.

But Sheena leaned into it anyway, her eyes squeezing shut, her body trembling. Because she was scared—terrified—that this was it. That this was the last time Jhoanna would ever touch her.

Sheena’s voice broke as she pressed harder against the wound, her hands trembling, her own tears mixing with the blood staining her fingers. It wasn’t enough. She could feel it slipping through her hands, warm and relentless, and she couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t stop this.

"Ate kita," she choked out, her breath shuddering, her vision blurring. "Hindi man kita totoong kapatid… Ate kita. Ate kita. Ate kita, Ate Jho!"

Her voice cracked on the last words, desperation bleeding into every syllable. She was shaking now, gripping Jhoanna’s arm like holding on tighter would keep her here, like saying it enough times would make it true, would make it matter, would make it mean that Jhoanna wouldn’t leave her.

Jhoanna exhaled a small laugh, breathless, weak. But she heard her. That was enough.

Colet barely remembered how she got here, barely felt the way her knees hit the floor beside Jhoanna. It was like her body had moved on its own, like the fear had reached inside her and dragged her forward before she could even think.

Her hands trembled as she reached out, as she took Jhoanna’s hand—God, it was so cold.

Too cold.

The kind of cold that settled deep in her chest, that made something inside her tighten and twist until she couldn’t breathe. But even now, even with the warmth draining from her, even as life slipped through Jhoanna’s fingers like sand, she still felt like home.

Because that was what Jhoanna did, wasn’t it? She gave warmth, even when she had none left for herself. She made people feel safe, even as she was the one who needed saving.

Colet sucked in a shaking breath and pulled Jhoanna’s hand up to her face, pressing it against her cheek like she could force the warmth back into it, like she could steal some of her own and give it to her. Her eyes burned, her throat ached, but she forced the words out anyway, voice thick and cracking at the edges.

"Hoy, makinig ka, ha?" She tried to laugh, to make it light, to pretend like she wasn’t breaking, but it came out strangled instead. "Hindi na kita papagalitan, hindi na ako mapipikon sa’yo, hindi na ako mabwibwisit sa’yo—basta, dito ka lang?" Her breath hitched, her vision blurred, and she pressed harder against Jhoanna’s hand, like holding on tighter would make her stay. "Malapit na sila, bunso. Please, just… keep your eyes open. That’s all I ask of you."

Jhoanna’s fingers twitched. Barely, just the faintest movement, but it was there. It was there.

And then, so softly, so weakly, she tried to move her hand against Colet’s cheek. Like she wanted to comfort her. Like she wanted to tell her it was okay. Like she wanted to hold her, too.

That was what shattered her.

The sob tore out of her like something dying, raw and helpless, like something she couldn’t control. Her shoulders shook, her whole body trembling as she clutched Jhoanna’s hand, as she pressed it closer against her face, her tears spilling onto skin that was growing colder by the second.

"Please," she begged, her voice breaking. "Please, Jhoanna…"

But the warmth was fading.

And Colet was running out of time.

Maloi collapsed beside Colet, her knees hitting the ground with a soft thud. She could barely feel it, too numb, too consumed by the overwhelming weight in her chest. Her hands shook violently as she cupped Jhoanna’s face, gently, as if she was afraid to break her. Her thumb traced the curve of Jhoanna's cheek, brushing over skin that was slowly losing warmth. The coldness seeped into her fingertips, sending a shock through her entire body, and her breath hitched in her throat.

Leaning down, she pressed her lips to Jhoanna's forehead, a desperate kiss, a silent plea for her to open her eyes, for her to come back. She pressed harder, as if the pressure alone could force life into her, like it could bring her back from the edge. But all that came back was the hollow echo of her own breath, sharp and jagged, in the cold silence of the room.

"Pag iniwan mo kami..." Maloi whispered, her voice breaking in a way she’d never thought possible. The words fell from her lips like shattered glass, too heavy, too impossible. She couldn’t look away from Jhoanna, not even to wipe the tears blurring her vision. "Hihiwalayan ko 'tong bwisit na 'to, Jho."

A laugh broke from her, but it was strangled, an ugly thing that scraped at her insides. It was a laugh of defeat, of disbelief. She tried to smile through it, but it twisted painfully, an expression of love and agony all tangled into one. She could barely breathe, the words stuck in her throat, like a weight that refused to be lifted. She couldn't make it light, couldn't pretend everything would be okay. Not now. Not like this.

Her fingers curled against Jhoanna’s skin, desperate, like she needed to feel her there. To hold onto something. Anything.

"Wag, ha?" The words came out softer this time, more of a plea than a command. Her voice wavered, cracking like fragile porcelain, each syllable trembling with the weight of her heart breaking. "Please, stay here. Please."

And then—there it was—a flicker. A smile, so small, so fragile, it seemed like it might disappear the moment it formed. But it was there, real, undeniable. For a moment, it was like the world shifted just enough, just enough to remind Maloi that Jhoanna was still there. Still fighting.

Still here.

Maloi’s breath caught in her chest, her fingers trembling more fiercely now as she held Jhoanna’s face in her hands. She whispered again, as if she could will the words to be a promise, to make everything right.

"Please, Jho," she breathed, her voice barely audible, raw with grief. "Don’t leave me. Don’t leave us. I can’t—"

She broke off, unable to finish the thought, the words too painful to say. Instead, she kissed Jhoanna’s forehead again, the salty taste of her tears mingling with the warmth of the skin beneath her lips. She held on tighter, like she could keep her here, like she could stop the world from spinning out of control.

But how much longer could she keep holding on when Jhoanna’s fragile smile was the only thing that kept her from falling apart completely? How long could she hold on when she knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same again?

Mikha spoke then, her voice breaking through the thick, suffocating air. Without thinking, without hesitation, she shoved past Colet, dropping to her knees beside Jhoanna. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t soft—it was desperate. A raw, unfiltered need to be the one holding her. To feel her. To make sure she was still real. Still here.

It was childish, stupid even, how it reminded her of the way they used to fight over things as kids—pulling, grabbing, claiming. A toy, a snack, a seat next to Jhoanna. Back then, it had been harmless. A game. One that ended in teasing, in laughter, in playful shoves and dramatic pouts.

But this wasn’t a game.

Colet didn’t shove back. Didn’t argue. Didn’t claim her turn. She just turned away, her shoulders shaking, her hands gripping her own arms as if holding herself together was the only thing she could do. She let out a choked sob, muffled against her palm, and for a moment, Mikha felt a pang of guilt.

But she couldn’t let go. Not now.

Her hands found Jhoanna’s—too cold, far too cold. The moment her fingers curled around them, something inside her shattered.

Because suddenly, she wasn’t holding Jhoanna’s hands anymore.

She was holding Tintin’s.

Her breath hitched. It slammed into her, the weight of it, the unbearable, suffocating truth—this wasn’t just Jhoanna. It was Tintin too. Tintin, who was slipping away just as fast, who was teetering on the edge of life and death just like Jhoanna was.

She squeezed her eyes shut, a sob tearing its way from her throat, raw and painful. Her chest ached, her heart pounded so violently it felt like it might burst.

"Jhoanna," she choked out, her voice splintering, barely holding itself together. She tried to laugh, tried to make it sound light, but it came out all wrong. It cracked, fractured at the edges, a sound too broken to be anything but grief.

"Pupunitin ko lahat ng pink ni Staku pag iniwan mo kami, ha?"

She let out another laugh—shaky, wet, bitter.

"Naiintindihan mo 'ko?" Her hands trembled against Jhoanna’s cooling skin, gripping tighter, as if anchoring her here. "Sisiraan ko yung pink niyang kotse… tas gagawin kong blue."

Her voice wavered on the last word. Like if she said anything more, if she pushed out another syllable, she might break completely.

The sirens were closer now, wailing in the distance, screaming like the world itself was mourning alongside them.

Maybe—maybe if they could just hold on a little longer. Maybe if they could get Jhoanna there in time—

But doubt clawed its way into Mikha’s chest, cold and merciless.

Would she make it?

Would she even make it in time?

Mikha clung to her, as if holding her tighter could somehow keep her from slipping away. As if sheer will alone could defy fate.

Aiah followed then, her steps slow, hesitant, as if getting too close would make this real.

She wanted to touch Jhoanna. To reach out and hold her the way Mikha and Colet did, to feel the familiar warmth of her skin, to reassure herself that Jhoanna was still here. But her hands wouldn’t move.

Because what if she felt nothing?

What if all she touched was cold?

The thought alone made her breath hitch, made her chest cave in with a pain so sharp it was almost unbearable. Jhoanna had always been warmth—always. She was the sun, radiating light and laughter, the kind of person who could make even the darkest nights feel safe.

Not feeling warmth would mean—

No.

Aiah clenched her jaw, swallowing back the sob that threatened to escape. She refused to confirm what she already feared. Refused to press trembling fingers to Jhoanna’s skin only to find that all the warmth, all the life, had already begun to slip away.

Because if Jhoanna was cold, if she was already losing that warmth—

Then they were losing her, too.

Aiah’s breathing turned ragged, uneven, but still, she couldn’t move. Instead, she crumpled forward, burying her face into Mikha’s shoulder, gripping onto her like she was the only thing keeping her from collapsing completely. Mikha’s body was warm—too warm, alive in a way Jhoanna might not be for much longer. A sob broke free from Aiah’s throat, muffled against the fabric of Mikha’s shirt.

It wasn’t fair.

They had fought for Jhoanna for so long. Chosen her, protected her, done everything in their power to keep her safe, to keep her here. And still—still, it was ending like this?

Still, she was being taken from them?

Her hands tightened, white-knuckled, as if holding onto Mikha was the same as holding onto Jhoanna. As if squeezing hard enough could tether Jhoanna to this world, could stop time from moving forward, could force fate to be kind for once.

But it wouldn’t.

Aiah could feel the truth settling deep into her bones, cold and unforgiving.

It wasn’t fair.

It would never be fair.

Because they had done everything.

And they were still losing her.

Gwen stood there, her body refusing to move, as if the weight of this moment had turned her to stone. Every part of her—her hands, her legs, her voice—was paralyzed, trapped beneath the unbearable truth pressing down on her. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she could do was watch as the life poured out of Jhoanna in slow, merciless seconds.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not like this.

Not to Jhoanna.

The bullet had never been meant for her. It had been for Gwen. She was the one who had been in the line of fire, the one who should have taken the hit. But Jhoanna had made a choice—a choice Gwen had never deserved—and now she was the one bleeding out, gasping for breath, trembling beneath hands that desperately tried to hold her together. Gwen’s stomach twisted violently, the weight of it crushing her, making her chest tighten until it felt like she might suffocate.

How could Jhoanna have chosen her?

Of all people—how could she have chosen her ?

When Gwen had been given the chance, when she had been the one with the power to choose, she hadn’t chosen Jhoanna. And yet, Jhoanna—kind, selfless, foolishly loyal Jhoanna—had still chosen her without hesitation, without a second thought, as if Gwen had been worth sacrificing everything for.

But she wasn’t.

And this—this was proof of that.

Gwen forced herself to look down, forced herself to take in the sight of Jhoanna lying there, drowning in blood, her breaths coming too shallow, too weak. And then—just for a second—she wasn’t looking at Jhoanna anymore.

She was looking at Tintin.

Tintin, whose blood had soaked through the cracks in the pavement, whose body had lain still, lifeless, as the world continued to move on without her. Tintin, who had also been lost, slipping through their fingers no matter how tightly they had tried to hold on.

The breath in Gwen’s chest finally escaped in a broken, trembling gasp, and she instinctively took a step back, as if distance would make the image go away. She blinked rapidly, desperate to clear her vision, to shove the memory away before it could consume her whole. But when her eyes focused again, it was Jhoanna lying there.

Jhoanna, who had always been warmth, always been laughter, always been home.

Jhoanna, who was reaching for her even now, fingers twitching, barely lifting, but still reaching.

Jhoanna, who she hadn’t chosen.

Something inside Gwen shattered, deeper than before, more violently, more cruelly. Her breath hitched, her hands shook, her entire body trembled under the weight of the unbearable, crushing realization that this wasn’t just cruel—this wasn’t just a tragedy. This was punishment.

This was the universe forcing her to watch the consequences of her own choices unfold before her eyes.

She had made her decision long ago, had turned away when she could have fought harder, loved better, stayed. And yet, Jhoanna had still chosen her, had still stepped forward when Gwen would have let herself fall.

And now, she was paying the price for it.

Gwen felt a sob rise in her throat, but she clenched her jaw, swallowing it back because she didn’t deserve to cry, didn’t deserve to grieve someone she had betrayed long before this moment. But then—just as her world threatened to collapse completely—Jhoanna’s voice, weak and fragile, broke through the air between them.

“Gwen, it isn’t your fault.”

The words slammed into her with the force of something unbearable, something cruelly familiar.

Because she had heard them before.

Jhoanna had said them before— right before the gunshot.

Right before she had smiled, as if she had already forgiven Gwen for something she hadn’t even done yet. Right before the world had turned red.

And now—now, with blood staining her lips, her breath shallow, her body trembling in Gwen’s blurred vision—she was saying it again.

Like she needed Gwen to believe it.

Like she didn’t want Gwen to carry this.

Like it was the last thing she wanted her to hear before—

No.

No.

No, no, no—

Gwen’s knees hit the ground with a force so sudden it rattled through her bones, but she barely noticed the pain. A choked, broken sound tore from her throat, not quite a sob, not quite a word, just raw, unfiltered devastation.

Jhoanna had always been good. Too good. Even now, even when she was barely holding on, she was still trying to save Gwen.

But Gwen didn’t deserve to be saved.

Not when the only person who deserved everything was slipping away right in front of her.

Stacey held Jhoanna in her arms, cradling her like she could somehow keep her together, like if she just held on tightly enough, Jhoanna wouldn’t slip through her fingers. Her entire body shook, silent sobs wracking through her chest, but she didn’t care—none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was Jhoanna, bleeding, weak, slipping further and further away.

“You’ll be fine,” Stacey whispered, her voice shaking, barely more than a breath against Jhoanna’s cooling skin. “You’ll be okay.”

The words came out instinctively, over and over, as if saying them enough times could make them true, as if she could rewrite reality with sheer desperation alone. But reality didn’t bend to love, and love wasn’t enough to stop the warmth from leaving Jhoanna’s body. Stacey could feel it, feel the way her skin had begun to lose its heat, feel the way the trembling in her limbs was slowing, feel the way each breath she took was becoming shallower than the last.

No.

She couldn’t let this happen.

She couldn’t lose her.

A sob tore through her throat, but she didn’t stop whispering the words. “I love you.” She had already said it so many times—more times than she could count, more times than she had ever said to anyone before—but somehow, it still didn’t feel like enough.

How could it ever be enough?

How could she have spent years loving Jhoanna, knowing every piece of her, memorizing the shape of her smile, the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her touch—only for it all to lead to this ? To a moment where love meant nothing in the face of fate, where no matter how many times she said it, it still couldn’t save her?

“I love you,” Stacey whispered again, her voice breaking, her tears falling onto Jhoanna’s cheeks, mixing with the blood that had already begun to dry against her skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Jhoanna had always been the one to say it first. Always the one who had loved so openly, so freely, without hesitation. But now, now it was Stacey who was saying it over and over, like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth, like it was the only thing keeping Jhoanna here with her.

But even love couldn’t stop the inevitable.

Even love couldn’t turn back time.

And as she held Jhoanna closer, feeling the weight of her growing heavier, her breaths slowing, her warmth fading—Stacey realized something so devastating, so earth-shattering, that it nearly broke her apart completely.

No matter how tightly she held her—

No matter how many times she whispered, I love you —

It would never be enough to keep her here.

Jhoanna’s hand lifted with a delicate effort, her fingers trembling as they brushed gently against Stacey’s cheek. Her touch was faint, almost too weak to be real, but the warmth that still radiated from her fingers sent a pang through Stacey’s chest, a fleeting reminder of the Jhoanna she knew—the one who had always been so full of life, of love, of light.

Stacey felt the tears she hadn’t even known she was shedding continue to fall, but before she could wipe them away, Jhoanna’s hand was there, moving softly, wiping them away as if she were the one comforting her. It was almost too much. The sheer tenderness of it, the way Jhoanna was still trying to care for her, even now, even when she was slipping away.

“Hey,” Jhoanna whispered, her voice cracked and faint, but still familiar—still her. “Don’t cry.” Her words were gentle, soothing, like they were meant to heal, to hold Stacey together when everything else was falling apart. “I’ll be okay.”

Stacey shook her head desperately, her own voice catching, refusing to let herself believe it. “No… Jho, you—you’re not okay.” Her words trembled in the air, unsteady, fragile. The truth was unbearable. “You’re not okay.”

Jhoanna smiled—weak, soft, but there, so desperately real, like it was a piece of herself she was giving Stacey to hold onto. She blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy, but she kept her gaze on Stacey’s face, as if she were memorizing it. “I can hear the sirens,” she murmured, her voice distant, as if she was already halfway gone, but still fighting to stay present, to hold onto the world just a little longer. “They’re close, aren’t they?”

Stacey could feel her heart pounding, a sharp pain that made her chest feel tight, suffocating. “Yes,” she whispered, even though it wasn’t enough. The sirens were close, yes—but not close enough. Not fast enough. “They’re close, Jho. They’re coming.”

Jhoanna’s smile flickered again, that familiar, teasing glint in her eyes, though it was quickly fading, slipping away with each passing breath. “I’ll keep my eyes open for you, alright, pretty?” The words were slurred, soft, but the affection in them was as strong as it ever was. “How could I not, when someone as pretty as you is holding me?”

Stacey’s breath hitched, a strangled sob breaking free, and she pressed her forehead gently against Jhoanna’s, her hands trembling as they held onto her, as if she could hold onto her forever. “Jhoanna, please,” she whispered, her voice shaking, desperation flooding her. “Don’t close your eyes, okay? Stay with me. You promised me you’d stay. You promised me you’d keep your eyes open.”

Jhoanna’s lips barely moved, her words so faint, but they were there, a soft whisper against the stillness. “I did, didn’t I?” Her voice was a fragile thread, a whisper of the woman she had been, but it was real. It was her.

The moment Jhoanna’s faint voice whispered those words, the ones Stacey had been desperate to hear for what felt like an eternity, the world seemed to hold its breath.

"I love you too."

The words were quiet, fragile, barely a murmur against the chaos around them, but they were enough to break Stacey’s heart into a thousand pieces. Jhoanna’s hand, once so full of strength, now trembled as it rested on Stacey’s cheek, a tender touch that barely existed but felt like a lifetime’s worth of love. Stacey could feel the warmth fading from her skin, could feel the life slipping away like sand through her fingers, but Jhoanna still held on long enough to say what needed to be said. And just like that, the moment felt both too short and infinitely too long.

The sirens came in a rush, louder now, closer. The noise that had been distant became immediate, and with it came the frantic scramble of medics, police officers, and nurses, all of them rushing to the scene, all of them moving with a precision that only spoke to the cold inevitability of the situation. The ambulance doors swung open, and the medics immediately swarmed, working with a speed that Stacey could hardly comprehend, trying to save a life that was already slipping too far out of reach.

Stacey’s breath caught in her throat as she watched them, helpless, as the nurses worked over Jhoanna, strapping her to a stretcher, connecting IVs, speaking in rushed tones. They said they needed to keep the patient awake, that they needed to get her into the ambulance as quickly as possible. The words felt like distant echoes, meaningless, because Stacey could already feel it—that unbearable weight of reality pressing down on her.

But before she could climb into the ambulance, before she could follow Jhoanna, something stopped her. Something caught her attention, and when she turned, her heart froze in place.

It was him .

Nerius.

Jhoanna’s father.

The man who had started it all. The man who had pushed his daughter into a world of violence, who had forced her into the very chaos that had taken her from them. The man who had turned their world upside down and left them shattered in the wake of it all.

He stood there, surrounded by officers, his face expressionless as they handcuffed him, his body unmoving. His eyes—those eyes that had once held so much cold indifference—now seemed… different. There was something there, flickering in them, something that almost looked like regret. Almost. But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

How could he stand there, like nothing had happened? Like he wasn’t the reason Jhoanna was dying? How could he be standing there, untouched, unaffected by the devastation he had caused?

The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long erupted in Stacey, her chest tightening with every passing second. She had to do something. She had to do something.

Her hands were shaking as she looked around, her vision blurry through the tears that refused to stop flowing. And then, she saw it—a piece of wood, discarded on the ground, lying forgotten in the chaos. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It was all she needed.

Without thinking, without hesitation, she moved toward it. She gripped it tightly, the rough edges digging into her palm as she swung it in her hand. Every step she took toward Nerius was fueled by a fury so intense, it burned through her chest, drowning out everything else.

This was the man who had caused all of this. The man who had taken Jhoanna from them. The man who had shattered their lives, and now, he stood there, cold and distant, like he hadn’t just destroyed everything they had ever cared about.

No one was paying attention to her. Everyone was caught up in the chaos—nurses rushing into the ambulance, officers shouting orders, the sirens still blaring in the background. No one would notice her. No one would stop her.

Her fingers tightened around the wood as she drew closer, her heart pounding in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the world around her. She was so close now, so close to him. He was standing there, oblivious, his back to her. He wasn’t looking at her, wasn’t even looking at his daughter, who was slipping away from them in that very moment.

Stacey’s breath caught in her throat as she raised the wood, ready to strike, ready to make him feel the same pain that had been tearing her apart.

But just as her hand swung forward, just as she thought she could make him feel something—anything—something stopped her.

A hand.

A strong, steady hand.

It wrapped around the wood, pulling it back with a force that made her stumble. She spun around, her heart racing, to see Colet standing there, her face a mixture of resolve and sorrow. Colet’s grip on the wood was firm, but her eyes were soft, filled with something Stacey couldn’t quite name.

“No,” Colet said quietly, but the tone of her voice brooked no argument. “Not like this.”

Stacey’s body trembled, her anger still burning in her chest, but now, there was something else—a deep, gnawing emptiness. She fought against Colet’s hold on the wood, her breath ragged, her words spilling out in a desperate, broken plea. “He deserves this, Colet. He deserves so much worse.”

Colet didn’t let go of the wood, didn’t pull away. She stood firm, her gaze unwavering. “I know,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “I know.”

Stacey felt the weight of Colet’s words hang in the air, like an invisible chain wrapped tightly around her chest, pulling her in the direction she knew she had to go. Her eyes followed Colet’s gaze, the one that lingered on Jhoanna’s father, Nerius, who was still surrounded by officers, the coldness in his face never wavering, despite the chaos and devastation around him. But as Stacey looked at him, a bitter realization clawed at her insides: he wasn’t worth it.

Suddenly, everything Colet had said earlier came rushing back to her. The way Colet had let her father die. The way she had stood frozen, unable to act, unable to save him. It had been a decision, one born out of rage, one born out of heartbreak—but a decision that had led her to stand in this very place, with Jhoanna slipping further away. Stacey couldn’t do that again. She couldn’t make the same mistake. Not again. Not with Jhoanna.

Colet's words pierced through the storm of fury and despair swirling inside Stacey.

“Jhoanna needs your attention more than this, Stacey.”

The softness in Colet's voice was a stark contrast to the intensity of the moment, but it held a strength Stacey couldn’t deny. The urgency there—the plea wrapped in those words—reminded her that her focus should be elsewhere. That everything— everything —hinged on Jhoanna.

“Let’s go back to the ambulance,” Colet continued, her voice steady despite the obvious strain, “They’ll do everything they can to save her.”

Those words, simple as they were, felt like a lifeline thrown into the ocean of Stacey’s turmoil. She hesitated for just a moment, her grip still firm on the wood, still trembling with unspent anger, but Colet’s unwavering presence and steady guidance broke through.

Jhoanna. Jhoanna needs me now. The thought was a gentle whisper, cutting through the rage that had consumed her just moments ago. She couldn’t stand there any longer.

With one final look at Nerius, who had begun to disappear into the distance, surrounded by officers, Stacey let go. She let the anger slip from her, her body sagging with exhaustion as she nodded, a small, unspoken promise to herself that she would fight for Jhoanna the way Colet had fought for her own peace.

Colet was right. Jhoanna needed her more than this. More than the chaos. More than the questions, more than the anger that had been threatening to swallow her whole.

And without another word, Stacey followed Colet toward the ambulance, her steps slow, her heart still heavy but somehow lighter than it had been moments before.

Inside the ambulance, the scene was chaotic, the space filled with the low hum of medical equipment, the sharpness of nurses’ voices, the smell of antiseptic and fear. Jhoanna lay there, fragile and pale, an oxygen mask pressed over her face, the steady rhythm of the machines the only indication she was still alive. Her chest rose and fell, but it was so faint, so fragile. The pulse of her heart was a soft whisper, a reminder of just how tenuous the moment was.

Stacey’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to make her way through the others. The girls—her sisters—were all gathered around Jhoanna, their eyes wide with worry, each of them trying desperately to be close to her, trying to be near enough to help in some way. They squeezed into the tight space, hands reaching out, faces straining with concern.

But nothing was enough. Nothing could change what was happening.

Stacey watched as Colet gently took her place by Jhoanna’s side, brushing back a few stray strands of Jhoanna’s hair from her forehead, her hand lingering there for just a moment. The tenderness in her touch was enough to send a fresh wave of grief crashing over Stacey, because Colet was there—holding Jhoanna like she would never let go, like she couldn’t, even if she had to.

We have to believe they’ll save her, Stacey thought, clinging to that fragile hope with every ounce of her being. But the fear was there too, sharp and insistent, gnawing at the edges of her heart.

The nurses worked quickly, moving with a practiced efficiency, checking the oxygen levels, adjusting the monitors, speaking in quiet, urgent tones. They were trying to keep her awake, trying to stabilize her, but it felt like everything was moving in slow motion, as if time itself was holding its breath.

Stacey could barely keep her focus, her mind spinning, her heart threatening to break at the sight of Jhoanna so fragile, so small under the harsh lights. The girls hovered close, whispering to her, trying to offer comfort that felt like it would never be enough.

“We’re here, Jho. We’re not going anywhere,” Maloi whispered, her voice cracking, her hands shaking as she pressed them against the side of the stretcher. “Stay with us, please. Stay.”

Mikha was just behind her, her eyes red from crying, but still trying to smile through the pain. “We’re all here, Jhoanna. You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.”

The words came, desperate, broken, and yet full of love. Each girl had their own way of offering comfort, their own way of trying to hold Jhoanna together. And even as the oxygen mask shielded her face, even as the steady beeping of the machines was all they had to cling to, they all knew—each of them knew—that what they needed more than anything was for Jhoanna to open her eyes. For her to come back to them, to find her way back to the family that had always been there for her, even when the world had turned against them all.

But as the ambulance doors slammed shut and the vehicle lurched into motion, racing against time, there was a heavy silence that filled the air. It wasn’t just the sirens anymore. It wasn’t just the beeping of the machines. It was the weight of everything that had happened, everything they had been through, and the fragile hope they were clinging to.

And in that silence, as they hurtled through the night, all of them—Stacey, Maloi, Mikha, Aiah, and the rest—could only hold on to each other and pray. Pray that Jhoanna could still hear them, that she could still fight, that she would survive this. Because they all knew that if she didn’t, they wouldn’t know how to go on.

Chapter Text

JHOANNA 

Everything hurt. Every breath was agony, sharp and unforgiving, like shards of glass lodged deep in my lungs. My body felt heavy, sinking into the stretcher beneath me, the cold seeping into my bones. The pain was endless, wrapping itself around every nerve, every limb, whispering to me that it would be easier to let go. To stop fighting. To close my eyes and finally let the weight of everything slip away.

But I couldn't.

Because when I closed my eyes, I didn’t find peace—I found them.

I saw their faces, broken and desperate, blurred by tears that wouldn’t stop falling. Maloi, her fingers wrapped so tightly around my hand that I thought she might leave bruises, shaking her head as if sheer willpower alone could stop this from happening. Aiah, pressing a trembling hand to her lips, her eyes brimming with prayers she didn’t know how to say. Mikha, whose voice was hoarse from crying, was forcing herself to laugh between sobs, trying to hold on to whatever hope she had left. Colet, standing just a little apart but gripping my ankle like she was afraid I’d slip away if she let go. Gwen, who hadn’t spoken a word, who looked at me like she was seeing a ghost, her whole body stiff as if moving would make this real.

And Stacey.

Stacey, whose hands hovered over me but never touched, like she was too afraid to feel how cold I’d become. Her lips were moving, but I could barely hear her, the words lost in the hum of the sirens, in the chaos of the ambulance. But her eyes—God, her eyes—were wide with something raw, something I had never seen before. Like she was shattering in front of me. Like losing me would tear her apart in ways she would never recover from.

I wanted to tell her that I was still here. That I wasn’t gone yet. But I was so tired.

Still, their voices kept pulling me back.

Sheena was mumbling something, rapid and urgent, her fingers pressing against my arm as if she could transfer her strength to me through touch alone. “You have to stay, Jho,” she whispered. “You have to. Please.”

Maloi forced a laugh, but it was strained, thick with tears. “Remember when you got lost in the mall? When you were turned into a child?” she asked, voice shaking. “You were so busy singing your heart out, you didn’t even notice we were gone. We had to make a stupid announcement over the speakers just to find you.”

Mikha joined in, trying to sound amused, but it came out broken. “Yeah, yeah. And when we found you, you were just standing there, flirting with some girl like you hadn’t just given us a collective heart attack.”

Colet sniffed, wiping at her face furiously. “It was the most Jhoanna thing ever,” she muttered, forcing herself to sound annoyed, but there was no mistaking the tremor in her voice.

Aiah let out a wet chuckle, shaking her head. “You’ve always been like that,” she murmured. “Like you didn’t have a single care in the world. Like nothing could ever touch you.”

“Guess the universe had other plans,” Gwen muttered under her breath, her voice laced with something unreadable.

They were all talking, all reaching for me, all trying to keep me here with them. Their voices surrounded me, wrapped around me like a lifeline, like an anchor holding me down when the darkness kept trying to pull me away.

I wanted to answer them.

I wanted to tell them I heard them, that I was still fighting, that I wanted to live. But the words wouldn’t come. My throat was dry, raw, my body too weak to do anything but let out a faint, shaky breath.

But I had to.

I had to say something. Anything.

So I forced my lips to part, forced the air into my lungs, forced my voice to come out even though it was barely a whisper.

“I want to live.”

It was small. It was weak. But it was real.

And when I said it, when those words left my lips, it felt like a promise.

To them.

To myself.

I wanted to live. For them. For the love they were pouring into me with every desperate touch, every whispered plea, every shattered laugh that tried so hard to keep me here.

I wanted to live.

And I would.

The moment the words left my lips, everything in the ambulance stilled. The frantic murmurs, the shaky attempts at laughter, the desperate reassurances that I would be okay—everything stopped.

The air felt thick, heavy, pressing down on all of us, but I kept going.

Because I wanted to live.

The girls froze. Their words, their broken laughter, their desperate attempts to keep me tethered to this world—everything stopped the moment they heard me. Their hands tightened around me, their breaths caught in their throats, their eyes wide with something I couldn’t name.

So, I kept going.

Because I wanted to live.

But wanting to live wasn’t enough.

Words alone wouldn’t keep me here, wouldn’t stop the blood from spilling, wouldn’t fight the darkness creeping into my vision. But maybe, just maybe, they could make this easier for them. Maybe, if I said the right things, if I made them feel okay, then I would be okay, too.

I forced a small, trembling smile, blinking up at them through the haze of pain and exhaustion. My voice was weak, barely a whisper over the hum of the ambulance, the weight of the oxygen mask pressing down on me, making every breath a struggle. But I had to say this. I needed to say this.

“This is actually really nice...”

They stiffened. I felt Maloi’s grip tighten around my fingers, heard the sharp inhale of breath from Stacey, saw Aiah shake her head as if she already hated whatever was about to come out of my mouth next.

But I wasn’t done.

With whatever strength I had left, I turned my head just enough to look at them, one by one, committing their faces to memory. The tears streaming down their cheeks, the way their lips quivered as they fought against sobs, the way they held onto me like they could physically stop me from slipping away.

“They say death is scary,” I murmured, my words slow, deliberate, every syllable a battle against the crushing exhaustion threatening to pull me under. “And painful.”

Mikha let out a strangled sound—half a sob, half a protest—but I kept going.

“But seeing all of you here, holding me, talking to me… I actually think it’s nice.”

Sheena choked back a sob, her hands clutching at my arm like she could keep me from fading if she just held on tightly enough. Gwen turned away, her shoulders shaking, unable to look at me. Maloi’s lower lip trembled, her brows furrowed like she was trying to understand, trying to make sense of why I was saying this.

“This is nice, right?” I whispered, my smile weak but real. “All of us… together like this?”

For a second, there was nothing but silence.

Then, Stacey broke.

“ No, ” she sobbed, her hands finally pressing against my face, my neck, as if trying to feel the warmth still left in me. “This isn’t nice, Jhoanna. This isn’t nice at all. ”

The others followed, their sobs breaking through whatever composure they had left, their voices overlapping with desperate protests, with please don’t talk like that and you’re going to be fine and just hold on a little longer.

But I didn’t regret saying it.

Because if this was my last moment, if this was all the time I had left, then I wanted them to know—I wasn’t afraid.

Not as long as they were with me.

The nurse’s voice reached me, distant yet urgent, her tone laced with both authority and concern. “Ma’am, please, don’t force yourself to talk.”

She said it gently, but even in my haze, I could hear the undercurrent of worry in her voice. It was a warning—one I knew I should heed—but the words barely registered because something else was demanding my attention. The frantic beeping of the monitor had changed. It was faster now, erratic, its shrill, piercing sound slicing through the thick air of the ambulance. It echoed in my skull, pounding in rhythm with the dull, fading thud of my heartbeat.

A creeping numbness settled over me, spreading like ink bleeding through paper, starting from my fingertips and inching up my arms, wrapping around my chest. It was cold—colder than anything I had ever felt—and yet, I could still feel the warmth of their hands on me, gripping, squeezing, refusing to let go. The contrast was jarring. Their hands were so warm. So alive . But my own? My own were losing sensation with every passing second.

Something was wrong. I knew it.

I wasn’t even at the hospital yet. I hadn’t been given a chance to fight. I had promised myself— I wouldn’t go like this . I couldn’t. Not when they were still here. Not when I could still hear their voices, choked with tears, frantic with desperation.

I tried to move, tried to speak again, but my body wasn’t listening. The panic swelled in my chest, but there was no way to release it. I was trapped, my limbs heavy, my breath unsteady, my mind torn between the unbearable exhaustion weighing me down and the raw, desperate need to stay.

I couldn’t leave them.

But the darkness was winning.

The edges of my vision blurred, the flashing red and blue of the sirens blending together into a sickening haze. My eyelids drooped, each blink lasting longer than the last, until keeping them open felt like lifting the weight of the entire world. I struggled against it, forcing myself to hold on, to stay in the moment, to listen—because if this was my last moment, I needed to hear them.

And then I did.

Their voices, their sobs, their grief spilling out into the cramped space of the ambulance.

Stacey was crying the hardest, her body shaking as she pressed her forehead to mine, her hands trembling against my cheeks. Her breath came out in ragged, uneven gasps, and she was saying something over and over, but the words were starting to slip past me, the syllables blurring together like ink smudged on a page.

Maloi’s voice cracked as she begged me to hold on, her words punctuated by sharp, uneven breaths, as if she was trying—and failing—to keep herself from breaking. Mikha was cursing under her breath, her voice thick with frustration, with anger, with something deeper—something raw and vulnerable. Aiah was whispering prayers, her hands gripping my arm so tightly it almost hurt, but I welcomed the pain, welcomed any sensation that reminded me I was still here.

Gwen hadn’t said much, but when I managed to shift my gaze toward her, I saw it. The way her shoulders shook, the way her hands curled into fists at her sides, the way her eyes—filled with so much regret, so much guilt —refused to meet mine.

Colet. She was the quietest of them all, but the look in her eyes made my chest ache more than anything else. There was something unreadable there, something deeper than sadness, deeper than pain. She wasn’t just mourning—she was angry , not at me, but at the universe itself, at the cruel, twisted fate that had brought us to this moment.

Sheena was quiet too, but her silence was different. She wasn’t just crying—she was pleading, her voice cracking with every word as she repeated the same phrase over and over, a desperate mantra she clung to like a lifeline.

"Please don’t go. Please, Jhoanna, don’t go."

I wanted to tell them I wasn’t going anywhere. I wanted to promise them I would be fine. I wanted to stay.

But my body was already slipping.

And as my vision darkened, as the cold finally overtook me, as the exhaustion dragged me under completely, the last thing I heard—the very last thing that reached me before everything went silent—was the sound of them crying my name.

They say that when you die, your brain rewinds the best and worst moments of your life for seven minutes. I never thought I would experience that, never thought I would be caught in the space between life and death, watching my own memories unfold like an old film reel. But with my eyes closed now, my body cold and unmoving, my breath barely there, I realize— it’s true.

It starts slow, like a flickering light, fragmented images flashing behind my closed eyelids. Laughter, voices, hands reaching out. Then, like a dam breaking, the memories spill forward, rushing through me in waves, too fast to grasp, too vivid to ignore.

I remember buying the car for Stacey, like it was just yesterday. The memory is sharp, clear in my mind, even though everything around me feels like it's fading. The car's original color was a bold, vibrant pink—too loud, too attention-grabbing for some, but for me, it was perfect. When I first laid eyes on it, I knew instantly. I knew that it was for us , for Stacey .

I’d walked into that dealership with the intention to surprise her. Something about the way the sun hit that car, making the pink gleam like it was glowing, struck me with a sense of certainty. This was going to be her car. There was no question about it.

The seller was a young guy, too eager to make a sale, and when I told him I was interested, he started spouting off about features, the usual salesman spiel. But none of that mattered to me. I was already sold.

And then he said it, in that casual, business-like tone: "You know, ma’am, the color can be changed if you’d like. We could do something more neutral, more… classic."

He didn’t even finish his sentence before I cut him off. It was a reflex, like the words just had to spill out.

“No,” I said firmly, my voice sharper than I intended. “I want it in its original color.”

The shock on his face was immediate. His eyes widened, and he stammered, like he couldn’t quite believe what I was saying. He tried to recover, offering more options, as if trying to convince me, but I stood my ground. The pink wasn’t just a color—it was a symbol. It was her .

That was the moment I knew it was perfect. I wasn’t just buying a car for her. I was giving her something that would make her feel seen, heard, loved. The bright pink was bold, unapologetic, just like her. The kind of color that wasn’t afraid to stand out, to be noticed, just like Stacey had always done in my life.

It was one of those nights, the kind where everything feels a little too quiet, where the weight of the world is pressing down on you, but you don’t want to sleep just yet. Mikha had already curled up in bed in the dorm, her breathing steady, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to her. But me? I couldn’t sleep. There was too much running through my mind.

That’s when I noticed Mikha’s motorcycle parked by the door, just outside. The one she never really let me drive. She’s always the one who handles the throttle, the one who maneuvers that bike like it’s an extension of herself. She’d always joked about how I wasn’t allowed to ride it because “I wouldn’t survive the first turn.” I knew she wasn’t wrong. Mikha was the skilled one; I was just the one who admired from the sidelines, always more of a passenger than a driver.

But that night? I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the feeling of being restless, maybe it was that little spark of defiance in my chest, but the thought of Mikha sleeping, unknowing, and the bike sitting there, so close , was all I needed. I could hear the faint hum of the dorm’s old heater in the background, but everything else felt too quiet , like the world had slowed down just for me.

Without really thinking, I grabbed the keys. Mikha’s keys. I didn’t even hesitate. I stepped outside, the cool night air hitting me like a shock, and I stood there, staring at the motorcycle. It was sleek, powerful, and intimidating.

My hands were shaking, but I slid onto the seat. I’d seen Mikha ride it a thousand times, I’d heard her explain how it worked, how to start it, how to drive it. I thought maybe it couldn’t be that hard. Maybe I could do it, just for a minute.

I slid the key into the ignition, and without a second thought, I twisted it, cranking the engine to life. The sound of the motor was almost deafening in the stillness of the night, loud and powerful, like it was demanding attention. My heart raced, a mix of excitement and fear swirling inside me. I revved the throttle without thinking, that powerful roar filling the air, echoing in the night.

But that was my mistake.

I should’ve known better. I wasn’t Mikha. I hadn’t been trained for this. I didn’t have the experience. And yet, the engine roared, and I, in my reckless impulsivity, felt a surge of energy, like I could conquer the world. But the bike, the powerful thing I thought I could control—it wasn’t in my control. It lurched forward too quickly, the wheels spinning, and before I even realized what was happening, I was thrown forward.

The crash was deafening. It felt like the world had shattered around me in an instant. I was thrown against the pavement, the motorcycle skidding away from me, metal scraping against the concrete in a violent scream. My body ached, but my mind felt like it was spinning, dizzy from the impact. I didn’t even have time to register what happened before the sound of footsteps, running, came from behind me.

It was Mikha, her voice sharp, frantic. “Jhoanna!” she shouted, followed closely by Sheena, who must have been woken by the noise. They came rushing toward me, their faces filled with concern and shock as they saw me lying there, sprawled across the pavement, disoriented.

Mikha kneeled down beside me, her hands shaking as she reached for me. Her voice cracked, fear rising in it like a tide. “What the hell did you do?” she asked, her words tinged with anger, but more so with worry. Sheena stood behind her, her face pale, her hands pressed to her mouth as if trying to stifle a scream.

I could barely process their words. My head was spinning, my limbs aching, but all I could do was stare up at Mikha, her face a mixture of disbelief and concern. I couldn’t even find the words to apologize, to explain myself. It felt like the ground beneath me was spinning, and everything was happening too fast, too suddenly.

The pain from the crash was sharp, but what hurt even more was the look in Mikha’s eyes. The concern, the disappointment, the fear for my safety—it all came rushing at me in that moment, and it stung more than any physical pain I felt. I had done something so stupid, so reckless. And it was Mikha, the person who’d always been there for me, who had to witness it.

She reached out for my arm, helping me sit up slowly. Her voice was softer now, but still laced with that edge of concern. “You’re lucky you’re not hurt worse,” she muttered, the anger and fear mingling in her words. “What the hell were you thinking?”

I didn’t have an answer for her. How could I? How could I explain why I’d decided to do something so impulsive, so foolish, when all I wanted was to feel the freedom she did on that bike? To feel the wind in my hair, to feel like I could live without restrictions, even if only for a moment.

But there was no time to explain. Sheena helped me to my feet, both of them supporting me as we looked at the wrecked bike. Mikha’s eyes lingered on it for a moment, her brow furrowed, before she turned back to me, the worry in her gaze still present.

“You’re going to be okay,” Mikha said softly, but there was something in her voice that I couldn’t shake— something broken .

The world didn’t stop spinning, but everything felt different now. I had crashed, and in that moment, I realized something— sometimes, the thrill isn’t worth the fall .

"Ate Colet naman!" I couldn't help but raise my voice, frustration bubbling up inside me as I watched her slump against the wall, her face bruised and battered from whatever had happened. "Hindi ka na tulad ng dati, hindi pwede yung ganito! Hindi lang naman ako yung nag-aalala sayo, si ate Maloi andiyan na yan para mag-alala, may jowa ka na kaya umayos ka." My hands trembled a little as I gently dabbed at the fresh bruises on her face with cotton, trying to clean her up as best as I could.

She rolled her eyes at me, that familiar cocky, defiant look flashing across her face, the same one she used to wear when I tried to lecture her. I couldn't help but sigh at the sight. I wasn’t surprised to see her like this—always getting into trouble, always testing the limits. But it still hurt to see her like this.

I watched her fist clench as she leaned back against the bench, her knuckles still bruised from the earlier fight. I had seen the scuffle earlier, too, some students—likely the same ones who had probably said something to set her off—lying on the ground, clutching their faces, their noses bleeding. Colet had gone off again, and just like that, she was in trouble once more.

"Tsk, edi wow," I muttered under my breath, trying to hide my concern with annoyance. "Bakit ba nakipag-suntukan ka, ha?" I poked her side, just to get a reaction, hoping to shift her attention away from the pain for a moment.

She cursed under her breath, grimacing as she wiped at her jaw. "Gago kasi eh," she spat out through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing as the memories of the fight came back to her. I couldn’t help but feel a tug in my chest as I realized the weight of her words—she was always so quick to protect those she cared about, even if it meant getting herself into trouble.

"Pero ano nga kasi?" I pushed, wanting to understand. There was always more to it than just the physical fight. Colet wasn’t the type to hit someone without a reason.

She sighed, clearly still irritated by whatever had set her off, but her shoulders sagged as she continued. "Dami kasi nila sinasabi tungkol sayo," she muttered, looking down for a moment. She paused, as if weighing whether or not to say more, before she finally locked eyes with me again.

"Sa akin?" I blinked in surprise. She nodded, the corners of her lips turning into a slight frown. "Diba, tatakbo kang president ng student council? Dami nila sinasabi, wala naman sila alam tungkol sayo. Habang sinusuntok ko nga, sabi ko, 'Pag di ko nakita mga pangalan niyo na hindi naka-boto kay Jhoanna, babanatan ko kayo.'"

She let out a breathless laugh, the kind of laugh that was a mix of frustration and amusement, but it quickly died down as she winced from the pressure of the cotton I was pressing against her skin.

I stared at her, the unexpected loyalty sinking in. Colet—her actions may have been rash and reckless, but it was always out of a sense of protectiveness. The way she’d gone to bat for me, standing up to those who talked behind my back… it felt overwhelming in the best way. She was always so blunt, so unapologetically herself, but underneath it all, her heart was pure.

"You didn’t have to fight for me, Colet," I said quietly, my voice softening. "But I... I’m grateful."

She smirked, the edge of sarcasm still lingering in her voice, even though I could see the flicker of sincerity in her eyes. "Tch, edi naman. Wala silang karapatang magsalita tungkol sayo. Magulo na nga ang buhay nila, ‘tapos ‘di pa nila matanggap na ikaw ‘yung matalino, may kakayahan, at tatakbo ka."

I gently finished cleaning the cut on her cheek, trying to keep the conversation light but feeling the heaviness of everything swirling beneath the surface. It wasn’t just about the fight; it was about the people who couldn’t accept change, who couldn’t accept the fact that I was running for president, that I was putting myself out there in ways they couldn’t understand. They didn’t see what I could do. But Colet saw it. And that meant more to me than anything.

I smiled faintly, feeling that tight knot of gratitude in my chest. "You always got my back, huh?"

She chuckled softly, even though she winced from the pain. "What can I say? Someone's gotta teach ‘em a lesson."

I couldn’t help but laugh too, despite everything that had happened. "Just don’t end up in jail, please," I teased, poking her side again.

Colet rolled her eyes but smiled, the usual defiance back in her expression. "Whatever. Jail can wait."

The moment was fleeting, but in that brief exchange, I felt something like relief settle over me. Colet—stubborn, reckless, and wild—was here. She had my back, no matter how messy things got. And for that, I would always be grateful.

“Shee?” I heard Sheena’s voice tremble from the other side of the door, a sound I knew all too well. There was a weight in her tone, an unmistakable heaviness that made my chest tighten. Before I could even open the door, she was already pushing it slightly, stepping inside. Her face was soaked, her eyes swollen, as if the tears had been running for hours.

Without a word, she collapsed against me, burying her face in my chest. Her arms wrapped around me tightly, desperate, like she was clinging to whatever piece of stability she could find in the storm that had just hit. The air around us was thick, heavy with grief, and I couldn’t find the right words to comfort her, to make it better.

Sheena's sobs echoed in the quiet room, her body shaking with every single breath she took. And then she said it, her voice raw, cracking with every syllable. "Wala na kami ni Gwen, ate."

The words hit me like a freight train, and for a moment, I couldn't process it. "What? No, Sheena, you’re—"

But she cut me off, her hands gripping tighter, like she thought if she let go for even a second, the world might crumble around her. "Wala na kami... she—she left, ate. She left me... she left me, ate. She—" Her voice faltered, and the sobs that followed choked her words into fragments.

I didn’t know what to say, what to do. This wasn’t just any fight, this wasn’t just a misunderstanding. It felt final, like a door that had slammed shut with no way back. I could feel the agony of her loss in the way her whole body trembled against me, the helplessness in her sobs.

I tried to push the words out, to find something to soothe her, to tell her it wasn’t really over, that it couldn’t be over. But my voice faltered. I couldn’t lie to her, not now.

"She... she broke up with me, ate," Sheena gasped, her voice barely a whisper now, and it hurt to hear her say it like that. The finality of it all was settling in. "She said it was her fault. But... I didn’t want it to end like this. I never wanted this."

Her words were like a dagger twisting in my chest, because I knew how much she had loved Gwen. I knew how deeply Sheena had invested herself in that relationship, how much it had meant to her. And now, just like that, everything had shattered. I could feel the coldness of it in the space between us.

I wrapped my arms around her, trying to hold her as best as I could, but it felt like nothing I did would make the pain go away. "Sheena, I... I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make it better, but you’re not alone, okay? You’re not alone in this."

She shook her head, the tears still coming, like a river she couldn’t stop, couldn’t control. "But it hurts so much, ate. Why does it hurt so much? I don’t know how to fix this." Her voice cracked at the end, and I could hear the desperation in it.

My heart ached for her. Sheena had always been strong, always the one who seemed like she had it all together. But now, here she was, completely broken, and it was hard to watch. Hard to know how to help her when everything seemed so out of her control.

"I’m here," I whispered softly, as I ran my fingers through her hair, trying to calm her, trying to give her even just a little comfort in the midst of this storm. "You don’t have to fix it alone, okay? We’ll figure it out together. I’m here, always. We’ll get through this. Together."

But even as I spoke, the truth hung heavy in the air. Things weren’t just broken between Sheena and Gwen—they were shattered beyond repair, and no amount of comforting words could undo that.

When I won the election, I couldn’t stop the tears. They came rushing down, heavy and uncontrollable, not out of joy or triumph, but because of this overwhelming guilt that crushed me from the inside. I had campaigned against Ate Aiah, my friend, my sister in so many ways. How could I have gone up against her? Why did I fight her in the first place? I had always looked up to her, always admired her strength, her wisdom, her calm presence. She was the one who always had everything figured out, who could hold the group together, who everyone trusted. It should’ve been her. She was more than capable. She deserved this more than I ever did.

The moment they called my name, it was as though the world had shifted beneath me. The applause, the cheers—they felt distant, muffled, like I was underwater, unable to breathe properly. My heart was too full of regret to feel anything else. Why me? Why did I have to win?

I stood there, frozen, the weight of the decision that had led me here pressing down on me. My legs were shaky, and all I could do was cry, overwhelmed by this guilt that threatened to swallow me whole. My hands trembled, and I struggled to breathe evenly, as if I was suffocating under the pressure of what I had just done.

But then, before I could fully fall apart, I felt something warm wrap around me, pulling me into an embrace. It was Aiah. She held me tightly, almost as if she could sense everything I was feeling, everything I was carrying. "Jho! Nanalo ka!" Her voice was bright, excited, filled with an energy that was the complete opposite of how I felt in that moment.

I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect her to be the one celebrating, to be the one who was happy for me, when all I felt was guilt and shame. I wanted to pull away, to explain, to apologize for what I had just done, but instead, I just kept crying, the tears streaming down my face, the guilt drowning me.

"Ate, dapat ikaw..." My voice cracked, barely able to form the words. The tears made it hard to see clearly, but all I could do was whisper what I felt. "It should’ve been you, Ate."

She pulled back slightly, her hands cupping my face, tilting my chin so I was looking at her. Her eyes were warm, full of sincerity, as if she could see all the turmoil inside me. "Ano ka ba? Wala akong pake! Bunso, nanalo ka!" Her voice was firm, but gentle, a reassurance in the way she spoke that almost made me want to believe it. "Ikaw ang nararapat, okay? Wala akong regrets. Kung may isa mang bagay na dapat nangyari, ito ‘yun. Nanalo ka, Jho. At ako, proud na proud sa’yo."

I couldn’t process it at first, couldn’t understand how she could be so selfless, so ready to support me even though this should’ve been her victory. Her words cut through the guilt like a knife, slicing away at the cloud of doubt that had taken over my mind. I still didn’t feel like I deserved it, but hearing her say that she was proud of me—that she was okay with me winning—eased something deep inside me.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, trying to steady my breathing, but the tears kept coming. "I don’t deserve this, Ate," I said softly, my voice barely a whisper, yet filled with so much emotion. "I didn’t want to beat you."

Aiah smiled, a soft, understanding smile, and I could see the pride in her eyes, the love that radiated from her. "You don’t have to deserve it, Jho," she said, her voice steady and reassuring. "Sometimes, things happen for a reason. And I believe you’re the one who was meant for this. I’m glad you’re the one who won. Don’t feel guilty. You’ve earned this."

Her words wrapped around me like a comforting blanket, and for the first time since I had heard my name called, I felt like I could breathe again. The guilt was still there, lingering in the back of my mind, but with Aiah’s support, with her unwavering belief in me, I began to see that maybe, just maybe, I was meant for this.

"Jho, gising na," Maloi's voice was soft but insistent, gently nudging me awake. I blinked a few times, my eyes heavy with sleep, the faint light from the morning slipping in through the curtains. It took me a moment to realize where I was—Maloi's apartment, I was left alone in the dorm, no Sheena for a few weeks, and the warmth of the covers that had been wrapped around me made everything feel like a dream.

I rubbed my eyes, still groggy from the deep sleep, and blinked at her silhouette standing beside the bed. She was smiling at me, a wide, welcoming grin that seemed to say everything without needing words. Maloi, Colet's new girlfriend, had become more than just a new addition to our circle; she had become a sister, in a way. Our connection was so easy, as if we had known each other forever, and in no time at all, it felt like we had always been close.

"You okay?" she asked softly, her voice gentle, noticing my slow reaction to waking up.

"Yeah... yeah," I muttered, still half-dazed. My body felt heavy as I shifted, trying to get myself upright, but I couldn’t shake the lingering grogginess.

Maloi's eyes softened as she watched me, and she leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed loosely. "I wanted to check on you," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "You know, with the holidays coming up, and all... I was thinking you shouldn’t be alone."

I blinked, my mind catching up with the words. It was the holidays, and for the first time in years, I didn’t have anywhere to go. Stacey and her family had left for a trip abroad, and there wasn’t really anyone else I could turn to. I had joked with them about being a holiday orphan, but deep down, it hurt a little more than I let on.

But then, like Maloi always did, she had a way of turning everything around. She had seen the quiet sadness in my eyes when I spoke about being alone, and without a second thought, she had offered a solution.

Her smile grew even wider. “I’ve been thinking, Jho. Why don’t you come with me and Colet? We’re heading up to my family’s cabin for the holidays. I know it’s last minute, but… I really want you to come. We’ve been getting along so well, and I don’t want you to be stuck here by yourself."

For a brief moment, I just stared at her, not sure if I was fully processing what she was saying. Maloi… she was offering me a place in her family, a place that didn’t feel like charity but like she genuinely wanted me to be there. I felt my heart tighten with warmth, but also a bit of embarrassment.

"Ate Maloi…" I started, sitting up a little straighter, though I was still trying to shake the sleep from my mind. "Sure ka ba? Nakakahiya eh." I felt the familiar pang of guilt, the fear of being an imposition, of taking up space when I wasn't sure I should.

She shook her head immediately, her expression soft and understanding. "Don’t be ridiculous, Jho," she said, her voice full of affection. "You’re not an inconvenience. You’re family, remember? We want you there, you’ve got nothing to be shy about. It’ll be fun, just like old times, but better."

Her words were so sincere, and I felt a sense of relief wash over me. It was silly, really, how much I had hesitated. Maloi and Colet had welcomed me with open arms, and now, here she was, inviting me into their world once again, even during the holidays.

I felt the warmth of gratitude fill my chest. "You’re sure, Ate? I don't want to be a bother, really."

Maloi walked over to the bed and sat beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder, her thumb gently rubbing over my skin. "Of course, Jho. We’re family. You’re never a bother. Besides, what kind of friends would we be if we let you spend the holidays alone? We’re going to have an amazing time, I promise."

And just like that, my hesitation melted away. I smiled, the weight in my chest lightened, and for the first time in a while, I felt like everything might just be okay. Maloi’s kindness, her easy smile, it was like a lifeline, something to hold onto when I didn’t know what the next step would be.

"Alright," I said, my voice softer now, more confident. "I’ll go. But only if you promise I won’t be a burden."

She laughed, a bright, unrestrained laugh that made everything feel right in the world. "Promise, Jho. Promise."

And just like that, I found myself feeling lighter, excited even, for the first time in what felt like forever. Maybe this holiday wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe I was starting to find a place where I belonged again.

"Jho?" Gwen’s voice cracked through the tension in the air as she opened the door. Her expression was a mixture of surprise and something else I couldn't quite read—something heavy, like she wasn’t expecting to see me at all, especially not after everything that had happened. She and Sheena had just broken up, and I knew that meant she was hurting. I had always considered her a friend, even though Sheena was the one I was closer to. But no matter what, I couldn't just ignore Gwen right now. She needed someone too, even if I didn’t know what to say.

"Hey, ice cream?" I asked, lifting up a tub of her favorite ice cream. It was my way of trying to break the silence, trying to offer something simple, something comforting. Maybe a little sweetness to help cut through the heaviness.

Gwen looked at me for a moment, her eyes tired and worn, and shook her head. "No, thanks, Jho," she said quietly, her voice distant. It was clear she wasn’t really in the mood, that the weight of everything was too much for her to bear right now.

Before I could respond, her little brother, who had been quietly standing behind her, rushed to the door. His face lit up when he saw me, and in a move that always made me smile, he wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. His small frame felt warm and comforting, and for a moment, I let myself just breathe in the innocence of his embrace.

It was almost like he didn’t notice the tension that hung between his sister and me, and I felt a little grateful for that. He signed to me—his hands moving with the fluent ease that only comes with years of practice—and I grinned in response, ready to talk with him in our shared language.

Are we going to the ice cream shop? he signed eagerly, his eyes shining with excitement.

I smiled back and nodded. Yeah, let's go!