The rain had always felt like home in Pacifica Shores — steady, cold, but somehow comforting. It washed the filth from the cracked streets, blurred the edges of the past, and whispered promises in the dark. But that night, the rain was different. It wasn’t cleansing anything.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRKvbV09kwN
It was warning them.
Panna Willowbrook leaned her head against his chest, curled up in the dusty corner of an abandoned greenhouse just outside town. Her breath was soft, like the rain outside, and her fingers traced idle shapes on his wrist — a habit she'd picked up when she was trying not to cry.
“You ever think we could just disappear?” she whispered.
He looked down at her — wind-tossed hair, a bruise fading beneath her jawline, and those ocean-grey eyes that always looked like they were hiding something.
“I think about it every day,” he replied.
She smiled. Not the perfect kind. The real kind — broken at the edges, tired in the middle.
“I hate this place,” she said. “I hate what it does to people. What it’s done to me.”
He didn’t answer right away. The truth was, he hated it too — the secrets, the shadows, the way the town watched you like it already knew your sins.
But he didn’t say that.
Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two crumpled train tickets.
Her eyes widened.
“Are these—?”
“Midnight. Out of town. No more hiding. No more pretending. Just you, me… and whatever comes next.”
She stared at the tickets like they were keys to a world she had only ever seen in dreams.
“Does this mean…” she whispered.
“It means”, he said softly, “I’m ready to leave Pacifica Shores. With you.”
🖤 The Plan
They made the arrangements that night — notes to leave behind, a bag hidden beneath the floorboards of the old chapel, and a meeting point by the west rail. It was dangerous, maybe even stupid. But what was life without risk when you’d already lost everything?
Her father, Mayor Rowan Willowbrook, ruled the town like a quiet god — loved in public, feared behind closed doors. No one crossed him and lived to speak of it. Especially not his daughter.
“He’ll come after us,” she warned. “He’ll never let me go.”
“Then we run faster,” he said. “He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him.”
That was the last time they kissed.
Under a broken skylight.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡixHhZTk0aa
In the rain.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzAreS36qDy
With her fingers trembling against his lips.
🕛 Midnight
He waited at the chapel steps.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡioU4mpRcBU
Bag ready.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUhLh9d4vZR
Heart pounding.
Midnight came.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyiIIWFxTFb
And passed.
She never arrived.
At first, he thought something had gone wrong. That maybe she was running late, or someone had seen her slip out of the house. He tried to convince himself. He had to.
But then…
The chapel caught fire.
The flames were fast. Too fast.
And no one tried to stop them.
He ran toward it — yelling her name, searching every corner, smoke choking his lungs — but she wasn’t there. Only silence. Only smoke.
And a body.
A man’s body, wearing his coat.
They thought he died in that fire.
And maybe… part of him did.
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