Alyssa’s mom entered the bedroom, pausing for a moment as she felt the drift from the open window. She looked around but shook her head and shut the window. “How could she have done this to us,” she muttered, stressfully rubbing her temples.

Alyssa’s father walked in, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Don’t worry about it, Alice. Let’s just talk to the press, and then we’ll figure out the rest of this. We only need to prove that this was something Alyssa pursued independently. Check her room for any papers.”

Alice searched through her desk right beside the bed, ripping out papers from journals.

Juro could feel Bruno’s hot and shaky breath on his hand clasped over Bruno’s mouth. He nervously stared at the set of feet just beside the bed. Juro brought a finger over his lips, signaling for Bruno to stay silent as tears fell down Bruno’s cheeks.

“There’s nothing here,” Alice began to cry, her shoulders shaking with every word. “Everything we’ve done. It’s all gone to waste.”

“Then we’ll tell them it was the ordinary people that forced Alyssa into this. It doesn’t matter what we say as long as we get out of this.” He wrapped Alice into a hug, pressing his lips onto her shoulder.

Bruno seemed to tremble with unbridled rage, and for a moment, Juro feared he would spring out from under the bed and lunge at the pair. Juro’s eyes pleaded with Bruno, begging him to just wait a little longer.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t pressure me to have a kid, Frank,” she trembled, indignant. “I told you the timing wasn’t right. Neither of us were home to watch her, and she got sucked up with all of those filthy kids.”

Frank tensed for a moment at her words. “You know how it works. We have to keep the Song bloodline going, and once this is over, that will remain the same. Alyssa’s death was just a setback.”

Alice began to pinch her nose and cheeks, trying to make them appear more red as if she had been crying for a long time. “You’re right. Let’s just go down and try to mitigate it.” She sniffled and pulled her hair back.

They exited the room, and once their footsteps faded enough, Juro and Bruno crawled out from under the bed. Bruno’s eyes were wide white globes on his dark face, and his lips quivered as he stared down at the journal. Juro’s eyes followed his gaze and read the words written in Alyssa’s beautiful handwriting.

If only I had never met you, I could have kept on living like this.

Juro’s eyes widened at the words on the page and he reached out and wrapped Bruno into a tight hug. Bruno’s body trembled in his arms like a defeated leaf flapping in strong winds.

“Why didn’t she ever ask me for help,” Bruno cried, leaning his head into Juro’s shoulder. “I could have helped her. I would’ve done anything. I never knew it was this bad. It’s my fault, Juro. Elizabeth was right.” Bruno gripped Juro’s shoulder, sobs wracking through his body as he clung on, desperate for some sort of consolation, some kind of salvation.

Juro held him tightly, gently running his hand in circles on Bruno’s wide back. “It’s not your fault. Not at all. This world is the one that forced her into this life,” he froze, remembering the Song’s conversation. “We need to get out of here before their speech. They’re going to reveal how we came to their house. They’re going to hunt us down.”

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“I’m sorry, Juro, but I can’t agree with you on this.” Bruno pushed Juro away and grabbed the notebook before jumping out of the window.

“Bruno!” Juro hissed, quickly reaching after him, clutching the folder, but trying not to make a sound. He peeked out the window and scanned the ground, but he couldn’t find Bruno—until he looked up. Bruno had scaled the wall using the nearby pipe and was making his way onto the shingles.

Juro hesitantly looked over the side. He was by no means athletic, and in all honesty the running had made him sore, but he swallowed his nerves and tried to pursue Bruno. Gripping the pipe with shaky hands, Juro slowly crawled his way up and caught up with Bruno.

“How could Alyssa have been involved in this violent attack? Were you aware of her influence?” One reporter shouted, holding a microphone up to the Song parents. Bruno was watching intently from the ceiling, his eyes glued on them.

Alyssa’s mom paused before bursting into tears in the mic, leaning on Mr. Song for support as her frail body heaved.

“Of course not,” Mr. Song replied fiercely. He spoke as if it were an order, a command; however, he quickly softened his voice, aware that whatever he said would become etched into his future. “Just before this, when my wife and I were out setting up the fundraiser, a group of ordinary citizens broke into our home and forced Alyssa into this.”

Bruno’s jaw tightened, widing the corners of his face. Juro reached out to comfort him but withdrew his hand, and he stared at the rough and rouge ceiling tiles beneath him instead.

Mrs. Song nodded, turning toward the camera just to wipe her tears before she buried her face into her husband’s thick, ironed suit once more.

“I can’t believe it. I really can’t,” Bruno said, almost laughing as he covered his mouth, choking back his words. “How could they act this way about their own daughter? Hours after she was slaughtered. And they turn right back to being dogs of the Leiths.”

Bruno…”

“Let me be angry, Juro.”

Juro paused and gave Bruno a weak smile, one that bordered a grimace. “Alright.” His voice was soft and delicate, and he sat down beside Bruno and watched. He peeked over at the notebook, which had flipped to a new page.

But I’m glad I did meet you, Bruno. Because you took me out of the dark world I was trapped in, even if it was just for a moment. You showed me that I could wake up looking forward to something and sleep wishing to spend all of my tomorrows with you.

“We loved her, truly, and she was the best daughter we could have asked for. She was clearly manipulated by these disgusting children who wanted to profit off of her kindness.”

“Do you have any details on this children?” The journalists clamored like starved vultures, waiting to pick up the scraps of a destroyed family—a family willing to be destroyed.

Mrs. Song finally spoke up. “Yes. I saw all of those disgusiting animals force their way into my home and attack me,” she cried harder, wiping away her tears with a small, embroidered hankerchief in her long hands. “Bruno Johnson had been harassing my daughter for years at school. There were two other girls. One was as pale as sheet with dark…”

Her voice trailed off for both Bruno and Juro as they turned to face one another. Juro gave a slight nod as Bruno extended a hand.

“Don’t miss,” Juro said, giving Bruno that same smile as he placed the paralysis gun into Bruno’s palm.

“I won’t,” and Juro simply knew that those words Bruno muttered were true.

Bruno aimed the paralysis gun straight at Mrs. Song, and with half-lidded eyes and a slight smile, he fired.