The night was heavy, like an oil-stained bedsheet pressing down on the world.Ethan and his "old friend" stood face-to-face in the abandoned train station. The wind howled through shattered glass, making the tracks wail like the world itself was mourning their warped friendship.
Ethan lit a cigarette, opened with sarcasm: "So, when do you plan on explaining? Or do you prefer the suspense, like those movie characters who always get shot mid-sentence?"
His friend's face was as annotated as a case file, layered with doubt. Finally, he spoke:"That night… when I stabbed you— it was to save you."
Ethan nearly choked on smoke, coughing into laughter: "Save me? Next time you try CPR, maybe skip the knife."
His friend didn't laugh. His eyes were grave, voice low like wind crawling through the tracks:"The Bureau had you marked. They suspected you were the 'Nightmare Key.' If I hadn't struck, the real kill squad would have. My knife bought you a chance to live under their nose instead of being erased."
Ethan flicked ash onto rusted rail: "So your logic is—stab me once, block their hundred stabs? Nice. But you could've texted me: 'Hey bro, I'll stab you tonight, don't panic.'"
His friend gave a bitter smile: "You wouldn't have believed me. Back then, you still saw the Bureau as home."
Ethan snorted: "Home? Then what were you, a relative? Fitting. Family reunions also make me want to die."
Silence stretched. Only the distant wind rattled the station's broken billboards.
Finally his friend confessed: "That night… I made you a traitor, but I don't regret it. At least you survived."
Ethan ground out his cigarette: "You know what's worse? If you'd really betrayed me, I could've blamed it on friendship breaking. But now you tell me you saved me. That means I owe you a life. And I hate debts."
His friend frowned: "You don't owe me—"
Ethan cut him off: "Oh, I hold grudges. Next time I really die, you're coming with me. Otherwise, it's bad manners."
The grim joke made them both laugh, hollow chuckles echoing through the dead station like stray dogs sharing warmth.
But the laugh faded, leaving only cold. Ethan knew this "truth" had holes. Why hide it until now? Why wait for chaos?
He didn't say it aloud. Some truths are scarier than lies.
Instead, he patted his friend's shoulder, joking: "Fine. I'll upgrade you from 'traitor' to 'accidental friendly fire.' Just a tip—next rescue, skip the knife. You'd make a lousy doctor."
His friend nodded faintly. The night wind swallowed their laughter, leaving the thick fog of suspicion untouched.