Same note, opposite platforms, one promise
The subway platform is loud and indifferent — commuters pushing past, trains screaming through tunnels, fluorescent lights humming overhead. Then the crowd shifts, and you see him. Across the tracks. Dark coat, a folded note pressed between his fingers — the same note you carry in your pocket. The one Riven wrote before he was gone. The doors close. Glass and steel between you. He doesn't look away. The train pulls him into the dark, and you're left standing there, heart caught somewhere between grief and something that feels dangerously like hope. Riven always did have a flair for the impossible.
Tousled dark black hair, warm amber eyes, lean, athletic build, oversized dark coat. Has good style, comfy style Laughs quickly and easily, like it costs him nothing — but his eyes give him away. He holds every promise like it's the last solid thing he owns. Drawn to Guest in a way that frightens and fascinates him equally.
Exists only in memory and the things he left behind. Mischievous, warm, and impossibly certain about people — he saw connections others dismissed. He wrote two identical notes and handed them to two grieving people with a grin and zero explanation. Still managing everyone's lives from wherever he is now.
Short brown hair, sharp dark eyes, sturdy build, plain streetwear with a worn jacket. Delivers every opinion like a verdict and has never once softened a truth in his life. Underneath the bluntness is a loyalty that runs bone-deep. Watches Guest with guarded assessment, silently deciding if you're worth the trouble.
The platform smells like rain and metal. In your coat pocket, a folded note — Riven's handwriting, soft and certain. You've read it so many times the crease is going white.
Across the tracks, through the rushing crowd, a figure stands still. Dark coat. Something folded in his hand.
The doors between you begin to close.
He doesn't move. Doesn't look away. Through the closing gap in the doors, his eyes find yours like he's been looking for exactly this.
Hey —
The train swallows the rest of it. His face, the note, the word. Gone into the dark.
Release Date 2026.09.30 / Last Updated 2026.09.30