The path twisted along the riverbank, narrow and muddy from recent rains.
Calen's boots sank slightly into the earth as he walked, the lantern bobbing softly at his side.
Ahead, a bridge stretched across the river — or what remained of it.
Half the boards had rotted through.
Rust ate at the iron railings.
A gaping hole yawned at the center, making it impossible to cross.
Beyond the broken span, Calen could see the rest of the town — distant and blurred by the mist rising off the water.
He wasn't sure why he'd come this way.
Maybe it was the lantern, pulling him forward like it always did.
Maybe it was something deeper.
At the near edge of the bridge, a boy sat slumped against one of the posts.
He wore a battered denim jacket, one knee pulled up, his head resting on his arms.
A skateboard lay abandoned nearby, its wheels caked in mud.
The boy didn't look up as Calen approached.
Didn't move.
Didn't seem to care that anyone was there at all.
Calen stopped a few feet away.
Waited.
Finally, the boy spoke — his voice rough, like a match dragged across wet stone.
Boy:
"If you're here to tell me to get lost,
don't waste your breath."
Calen set the lantern down carefully.
Calen:
(quietly)
"Not here to move you.
Just passing through."
The boy snorted without lifting his head.
Boy:
"Then keep passing."
Calen stayed where he was.
After a long moment, the boy glanced up —
just enough for Calen to catch a glimpse of his face.
Sharp features.
Dark circles under his eyes.
A scab on one cheekbone.
Bitterness and sadness tangled together behind guarded eyes.
Boy:
(gruff)
"You always drag around a lantern like some kind of lost ghost?"
Calen:
(shrugging)
"Sometimes.
Sometimes it's for other people."
The boy scoffed and dropped his head back onto his arms.
Boy:
"Waste of time."
Calen:
"Maybe.
But sometimes a little light helps."
Another silence stretched between them —
thick with things neither was ready to say.
Finally, the boy spoke again, voice muffled.
Boy:
"Name's Noah."
Calen:
"Calen."
Noah kicked a pebble off the bridge, sending it plunking into the river below.
Noah:
"You got somewhere to be?"
Calen:
(softly)
"Not really."
Noah:
(gruff)
"Then you're lucky."
Calen watched the river for a moment, the way it slid around the bridge supports —
steady, patient, carrying everything it touched forward.
Calen:
"Or maybe just stubborn."
Noah huffed a humorless laugh.
Noah:
"Yeah.
That's what got me stuck here."
Noah picked at the frayed hem of his jacket, his fingers restless, raw.
Noah:
(gruffly)
"You ever screw something up so bad…
you can't even fix it?"
Calen thought about that for a moment.
About promises made under rainy roofs.
About the names that still ached like phantom limbs.
Calen:
(quiet)
"Maybe not fix it.
But sometimes you can still carry it."
Noah barked a harsh laugh.
Noah:
"You and your damn carrying."
He lifted his head, eyes sharp with something halfway between anger and desperation.
Noah:
"What if you don't want to carry it?
What if you just want to forget?"
Calen looked at the broken bridge —
the jagged hole tearing the span in two —
and then back at Noah.
Calen:
"Forgetting doesn't heal.
It just hides the wound deeper."
Noah scoffed, kicking another pebble into the water.
Noah:
"Easy for you to say."
Calen:
(softly)
"Not really."
Noah leaned his head back against the post, staring up at the slowly darkening sky.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, without looking at Calen:
Noah:
(gruff)
"Used to have a best friend.
Ezra."
The name fell from his lips like something sharp and jagged.
Noah:
"We were stupid together.
Broke windows.
Got detention.
Built a raft once and nearly drowned ourselves trying to race it down the river."
Despite himself, a small, broken smile tugged at Noah's mouth.
Then it faded.
Fast.
Noah:
(quietly)
"Last year…
he got into a fight with some guys at school.
Took the fall for it.
Said it was all him.
Protected me."
Noah's hands clenched into fists.
Noah:
"I let him."
Calen stayed silent, letting the confession spill into the thickening air.
Noah:
"Didn't stand up.
Didn't tell the truth.
Let him take the suspension, the blame, everything."
He kicked the skateboard again, sending it skittering into the broken planks.
Noah:
"He moved away a month later.
His family packed up and left.
Didn't even say goodbye."
The river murmured below them, a soft and steady witness.
Calen shifted, his lantern swinging slightly.
Calen:
(gently)
"And you stayed here."
Noah:
(bitter)
"Yeah.
Like a damn ghost."
His voice cracked.
Noah:
"I come here every day.
To the bridge.
Like if I just sit long enough, maybe…
maybe he'll come back."
He rubbed at his eyes angrily, as if furious at himself for the tears that wanted to fall.
Noah:
(choking)
"But he's not coming back.
And I…
I can't even cross the stupid thing anymore."
Calen looked at the hole in the bridge — the missing pieces, the gap too wide to jump.
It was a wound made visible.
A wound that mirrored the one inside Noah's chest.