It was raining when Jalen decided.
The storm swept across the city in silver sheets, washing the neon lights into watercolor streaks. The streets were nearly empty, except for him—hood up, clutching the small vial close to his chest as though it were his heartbeat.
He hadn't slept in days. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Mira's face—the calm, polite smile, the eyes that didn't recognize him.
She was alive. She was free.
But she wasn't Mira.
And that, he could not live with.
The Exchange loomed ahead, its dark spires reflecting lightning. The doors opened soundlessly, as if they had been waiting for him all along.
Inside, the pale-eyed woman was alone. Her gaze flicked to the vial in his hand, and a faint smile touched her lips.
"You've come to return the favor," she said softly.
Jalen nodded, soaked to the bone. "I want to make one last trade."
She tilted her head. "Even after all she sacrificed for you?"
"That's exactly why," he said.
The woman circled him slowly, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor. "You carry her love still. Few mortals ever touch such purity and remain standing. You know what will happen if you offer it back."
He did. He had known since the moment he felt its warmth pulse against his palm.
"If I give it up," he said quietly, "will she remember?"
The woman's smile deepened. "Perhaps. But memory is only the first step. To remember love is to feel it. And to feel it is to bear its pain. Are you willing to bring her back into that suffering?"
Jalen's eyes filled with tears. "She deserves to choose that for herself."
For a long, silent moment, the woman studied him. Then she nodded once, almost imperceptibly. "Very well."
She placed a crystal bowl on the counter, filled with water so clear it reflected nothing. "Pour it in," she instructed.
Jalen hesitated only for a second before uncorking the vial.
Golden light streamed out, brighter than fire, swirling like liquid emotion. It shimmered across the water, sinking into its depths until the bowl glowed softly, pulsing with warmth.
The woman whispered an incantation in a language that hummed like heartbeat and thunder. The glow deepened, spreading outward, until the walls of the Exchange themselves began to tremble.
Far away, Mira stirred in her sleep.
Her breath hitched. Her heart began to pound.
Images burst through her mind like sparks—Jalen's laughter, her own tears, the countless trades she'd made, the feel of his hand clutching hers in the dark.
Then came the pain. Sharp, blinding, real.
She gasped and sat upright, clutching her chest. The emptiness inside her cracked open like ice breaking in spring.
And through the pain, warmth flooded in.
At the Exchange, Jalen stumbled backward, the vial falling from his hand as light erupted outward.
The pale-eyed woman shielded her face. "It's done," she hissed. "The bond is whole again!"
Jalen fell to his knees, exhausted, trembling. "Then she remembers?"
The woman nodded. "Yes. But the balance must be restored. Every act of love requires its cost."
He looked up, dazed. "What cost?"
She smiled gently. "The donor's existence."
His heart froze. "No."
"It is already begun," she whispered.
The air around him shimmered. His reflection in the marble floor flickered, fading at the edges. His hands grew translucent.
He could feel it—the world letting go of him, piece by piece.
"Wait," he gasped, stumbling to his feet. "Please. Just one more moment—let me see her."
The woman's expression softened. "Go, then. She will find you where you began."
He ran.
Out into the storm. Through streets that seemed to blur around him, light bending and sound distorting. His footsteps barely left ripples in the puddles.
He reached their apartment, bursting through the door, breathless.
Mira was there, standing by the window, tears streaming down her face.
"Jalen," she whispered.
He froze. "You remember."
She nodded, sobbing. "Everything. The trades. The pain. The love."
He stepped toward her, but his form flickered again.
"No," she cried, reaching out. "Don't you dare leave me!"
He smiled faintly, eyes full of warmth. "I think… this is how it was always meant to end."
She grasped his fading hand, their fingers barely touching.
"Why did you do it?" she sobbed.
"Because you taught me how," he said softly. "You showed me that love isn't about holding on—it's about giving until the very end."
Tears streamed down her face. "Don't say that."
"I had to make it even," he whispered. "You gave me your love. I'm giving it back."
Her grip tightened around nothing as his hand dissolved into light.
"Jalen!" she screamed.
The world stilled.
The storm eased.
Only silence remained.
Mira collapsed to her knees, the room filled with a faint glow that slowly dimmed until only the reflection of dawn remained.
She stayed there for a long time—hours, maybe days—until the city itself began to stir.
And when she finally stood, there was no more Exchange. No more debt. The world had reset itself around balance restored.
But she remembered.
Every moment. Every sacrifice. Every laugh. Every goodbye.
Years later, she would tell their story to anyone who would listen.
People thought it a myth—a cautionary tale about the dangers of trading what should never be sold.
But sometimes, when she looked up at the sunrise, she swore she saw his shadow in the light—watching, smiling, still there in the space between feeling and memory.
And when the wind whispered through the alleys of the city, she could almost hear his voice.
"Love is the only currency that never runs out. It only changes hands."