Broken Loop

Chapter Three: First Fracture

No answer.

He tried the knob. Unlocked. He pushed in. The sound of rain against glass filled the quiet space. Jade's journal lay open on the desk, pen resting on a half–finished entry. A scrap of paper peeked from the pages—her workshop critique, scrawled "Too bleak" in red ink.

He knelt, scanning the words, heart tightening. "Journal, coffee, rejection... I know this story."

She emerged from the bedroom with keys held in one hand, expression stony. "You're following me."

He stood. "I—I'm worried."

She set her keys on the counter. "Don't."

He clenched his jaw. "Please."

Her hand hovered over her bag. "If you don't leave..."

He held up both palms. "I'll go."

She swallowed, eyes dark. "Good."

And he did—each step back toward his room felt clogged with shame.

• • •

Evening settled in violet and ash as he hovered at her doorway once more. He'd tried conversation, logic, vulnerability. Tonight, he'd try desperation.

He knocked, firm this time. Jade opened the door a crack, gaze wary.

"I know you hate me," he began. "But I need one night. One. Let me protect you."

Her eyes flared. "Protect me?"

He nodded, throat raw. "I—I have this watch. It rewinds time."

She laughed, edged away. "You really believe that?"

He took a breath. "Let's go somewhere. Anywhere—you pick. I'll prove it."

She shook her head. "No."

Her refusal hit him like a blow. He stepped forward. "Please."

She let out a breath of exasperation. "Why can't you accept no?"

He blinked back hurt. "Because if I don't... I lose you forever."

Her lips trembled at the corners. "Aiden—"

But his phone buzzed. He flinched, chest tightening. She saw the screen: a flash of text—Time's up—then it went dark.

He pocketed the phone. "It's time."

Jade's eyes darted to the watch peeking from his coat pocket. In a blur, she grabbed for it.

He yanked it back. "No—"

Her fingers scraped his cuff. She yanked, and the crystal face hit the doorframe, spidering into new cracks. The air snapped taut.

He grabbed her arm. "Stop it!"

Shocked tears welled in her eyes. "Why do you care so much?"

He closed his hand over her wrist. "Because you matter."

She wrenched free and spun away. A night breeze slipped through the open window, stirring the edges of her hair.

"Whatever this is," she said, voice cracking, "I don't want it."

He stilled, breath suspended. Then she moved past him—toward the balcony door.

He lunged.

• • •

Rain had freshened outside, a cold wash across the boards. Jade stood on the threshold, gaze fixed on the empty courtyard below—wet stones that shimmered like grief. Her hood lay behind her, face bare to the storm.

Aiden pressed to the edge. "Jade, come back inside."

She didn't move. The faint echo of thunder rolled overhead.

He reached for her, voice urgent. "Talk to me. Please."

She turned, eyes hollow. "What is there to say? You can't fix what's broken."

His heart knocked against his ribs. "Then tell me what to do."

She closed her eyes. "Nothing."

He swallowed. "I won't let you—"

Her fingers fluttered to the railing. He grabbed her hand. Nylon slipped between his fingers. "No—Jade."

She jerked back—rainwater flicking off her sleeves. Lightning lit her face: pinched with resolve.

He leaned over the railing, chest aching with urgency. "Please. I—I love you."

She opened her eyes. Pain glowed there. "Love doesn't stop the hurt."

His throat constricted. "Let me in."

She took a step forward—thin space between sanity and surrender. In that instant, he thought he'd catch her.

Then her foot slipped, wood crying underfoot.

Aiden lunged, grasping empty air. The railing groaned—one long, tortured note—then snapped under his weight.

He pitched forward. Cold rain sliced at his skin as he plunged onto the balcony. Glass exploded beneath him as he cleared the threshold. Pain flared in his shoulder and side, but he scrambled upright.

Below: Jade's body lay on the stone, arms splayed, hood fallen back, hair a dark halo. A thin line of blood wound around her temple.

Aiden raced down the steps, boots making wet smacks against the wood. Each breath jolted his chest. He knelt beside her, hands braced on the cold stone. "Jade—please."

He pressed his palm to her neck. No pulse. His other hand trembled as he closed her eyelids, cradled her head against his chest.

Silence swallowed his plea. Rain whispered overhead, drumming alongside the jagged beat of his heart.

• • •

The apartment was still when he finally climbed back inside. He carried Jade's coat and her keys as though they weighed an anchor. The watch lay on the balcony's ledge, glinting in the trembling light like a broken promise.

He sank to the floor by her desk and reached for the blank sheet of stationery he'd seen yesterday. An inky pen rested beside it—cap off, waiting.

He stared at the paper through the blur of tears. He remembered Jade's voice, soft but certain: "I don't want it."

His fingers shook as he dipped the pen in ink. Then he froze.

He remembered the sight of her falling, slow as tragedy unfolding in slow motion. He remembered the ache of palm against blood- slick stone. He remembered the watch's brittle promise—and her belief that nothing could fix the pain.

He closed his eyes and set the pen down. Across the room, on the nightstand, he saw the envelope she'd left poking from the folds of her journal. He hadn't noticed it in his panic.

He reached for it, pulling it free. Jade's name was scrawled on the front in careful script: "For Aiden."

His chest tightened. He opened the flap. The letter inside was small, folded, and creased where Jade's fingers had pressured it into permanent decision.

He unfolded it with trembling hands. Ink formed words that tore through him:

> Dear Aiden, > I tried to tell you I didn't want to live. Maybe words aren't enough. Maybe you needed proof. > > I love you, brother, but I can't do this anymore. Every day I wake in this apartment, I see your face—lost, panicked, trying to save me—and I know I'm failing you by staying alive. It hurts too much. > > I'm sorry I couldn't fix this for you. I'm sorry I couldn't fix me. > > Goodbye, > Jade

Aiden's world spun. The envelope slipped from his fingers. He pressed the letter to his chest, rocking on the cold floor, as though he could stop the breaking if he moved slowly enough. Rain pattered the windowpane, the apartment exhaled, and in the hush, he felt the first fracture of hope crack open.