Dorian had learned to grow up early. When his parents died, the world didn't pause for him, it simply kept moving, leaving him behind with a fourteen-year-old sister who looked at him like he was her entire world.
Her name was Lila.
She had his mother's laugh and his father's stubbornness, and Dorian would've done anything to keep that light in her eyes alive.
They'd spent the evening walking home from the fairgrounds, teasing each other over who would scream first on the rides. Lila skipped ahead, her ponytail bouncing, and Dorian couldn't help but smile. She always found a way to make the world feel less heavy.
"Winner gets ice cream, loser pays," he'd said earlier, pretending to sound serious.
She'd grinned, eyes bright under the streetlights. "Deal!"
Their laughter drifted down the empty road like music.
Neither of them noticed the man watching from across the street. Hidden in the shadows, he leaned against the wall, a faint smirk curling across his lips. The kind of smile that was so unhinged and dangerous. His whisper vanished into the wind.
"This one's perfect."
Days later, Dorian stood in a small office that smelled faintly of coffee and paperwork. The world around him felt unreal, like it was moving without sound.
Across from him sat the lawyer, calm, composed, and completely detached.
The words came out strangled. "You're telling me… he's walking free?"
The lawyer sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed his temples. "There wasn't enough evidence. Without a direct link..."
Dorian barely heard the rest. His pulse roared in his ears. Not enough evidence. His sister was dead, and the man responsible was going home.
The system had failed her.
He left before the lawyer could finish, before the meaningless apologies could fill the room. Outside, the air was cold, sharp with the smell of rain. The courthouse steps were slick beneath his shoes, but he hardly noticed.
Down below, a man in a dark coat exited the building, the man. The killer. His grin was casual, even amused, like a man leaving a show he'd enjoyed.
Their eyes met.
Something in Dorian's chest broke. He didn't yell. Didn't move. He just stared as the man brushed past, his voice a low murmur that only Dorian could hear.
"I am going to the graveyard to give her flowers back."
It wasn't rage that followed, it was determination.
Cold. Heavy. Final.
For days, Dorian disappeared from the world. He didn't eat, didn't sleep. He sat in Lila's room, staring at the empty bed, at the hairbrush on the dresser, the photos still taped to the wall. The air still smelled faintly of her, cheap perfume and vanilla shampoo.
He tried to pray, but the words felt empty.
Justice, he decided, wasn't something granted. It was something taken.
The rain came again the night he found the man.
The streets glistened like glass under the streetlights, the sound of thunder rumbling low in the distance. The man walked alone through a narrow alley, whistling softly, unaware of the shadow behind him.
Dorian's breath fogged in the cold air. His heartbeat was slow, steady, almost peaceful and pulled out a knife.
When the man turned, surprise flashed across his face. "You, what are you doing."
He didn't finish.
The alley filled with the sound of rain, heavy and relentless. Dorian didn't remember the details, only the rhythm of it all: his pulse, the thunder, the distant hum of the city that would never know her name.
When it was over, he stood in the downpour, staring at what he had done. His hands shook, crimson washing away with the rain until it was as if none of it had ever happened.
"For you," he whispered. His voice cracked. "For you, Lila."
He didn't run right away. He waited until the sirens began, until the light of distant police cars flickered like dying stars. Then he turned and vanished into the forest behind the city.
He didn't know how far he ran, only that the world around him began to change. The trees grew thinner, the air colder. And when he finally stopped, gasping for breath, he saw it.
A city stretched out before him, but it wasn't his city. It was a graveyard of towers and broken streets. The skyline was cracked, the air still and dead.
He took one step forward.
"Where am I?"
The wind didn't answer.