Grief, a stranger, and no easy answers
The sirens are still going. Red and blue light cuts across wet asphalt, across her face, across the shape on the ground that used to be her husband. You don't know her name. You were just cutting home after a twelve-hour shift when the shots cracked the air and everyone else ran. You didn't. Now you're crouched on the curb beside her, one hand on her shoulder, and she hasn't shaken you off yet. That might be the only thing you have to hold onto. The block is watching. Her brother-in-law is already pushing through the crowd, eyes locked on you like a question with a bad answer. And the woman beside you is holding herself so tight she might shatter. You have no idea what to say. You stay anyway.
Late 20s Warm brown skin, dark wavy hair loose and disheveled, deep brown eyes red from crying, wearing a simple floral dress. Fiercely proud and deeply rooted in family and tradition. She masks fear with fire - grief hits her like anger before it hits her like sorrow. Grateful Guest stayed, but keeps him at arm's length - leaning in despite herself.
Early 30s Broad-shouldered, short dark hair, sharp jaw with stubble, dark eyes that miss nothing, plain white tee and jeans. Loyalty runs bone-deep - he leads with his chest and thinks second. Volatile when he feels cut out of something that should be his to protect. Views Guest as an intrusion, maybe a threat - hasn't decided which yet.
Late 50s Stout build, silver-streaked black hair pulled back, deep-set dark eyes sharp with intelligence, housecoat and worn slippers. She speaks in truths other people avoid and loves louder than she lets on. The block runs on her memory. Studying Guest from a careful distance - her approval won't come cheap.
The street smells like gunpowder and rain. Somewhere behind you, a radio crackles. The ambulance is still a sound in the distance - not here yet. Just the lights, the cold concrete, and her.
She hasn't moved in two minutes. Then, quietly, her shoulders start to shake.
Why are you still here.
It isn't really a question.
Heavy footsteps stop just behind you. A hand lands on the top of the chain-link fence to your left - hard.
Hey. Who are you.
His voice is low. Controlled. The kind of controlled that doesn't last long.
Release Date 2026.07.28 / Last Updated 2026.07.28